


Dear Jean Hello

by FreckledSkittles



Series: Fiji-AOPi [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Chef!Marco, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mild Language, Musician!Jean, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, or as mild as you can get with jean kirschtein's potty mouth, penpal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 139,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein has been writing his penpal Marco Bodt since the third grade. He trusts his friend who lives across the country more than he has ever been able to trust anyone. </p><p>Until one day, when Jean sends a letter and never receives a reply.</p><p>Two years later, while in college, Jean meets the same boy in his letters, though older and definitely attractive. The downside: Marco doesn't know who he is.</p><p>This is the story of two friends, one from Virginia and the other from California, who defy the odds and fall head-over-heels for one another, and who learn that you don't have to be perfect to be loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Letters East and West

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a JeanMarco fic and this is what I have to show for it.

‘Dear Jean hello’.

He had never seen a more poorly-started letter that was so perfect than the one he received from Marco Bodt.

The first time Jean Kirschtein had received a letter from his penpal, he had nearly ripped the envelope to pieces. He had been waiting for the moment where he would arrive home and rifle through pristine envelopes with plastic rectangles and flawless seals that hid secrets and information with wax or the sticky residue that he couldn’t name. It had turned into an adventure of endless anticipation for him. He had trouble making friends already, and there were only two he could give that title to. This was a better chance than ever to find a new friend.

His mother had chided him for his impatience, often nudging him away from the counter so she could take a look at what had arrived. Jean always asked if she had seen a letter for him, explained that he needed to hear from his penpal and how he was doing, but she always gave him the same news: “It's almost here, Jean-boy. The mailman said so!"

Almost ten days after his wait, after pressing against the car window and throwing open the door to check the mail, he discovered the small white envelope that he had been waiting for. And right in the middle of it, in scribbled handwriting, read his information: "Jean Kirschtein; 104Stockton Road; Suffolk, VA 23434”. A few stamps outlined the top right corner, and on the opposite corner, the writer's name and address was written out: "Marco Bodt; 8450 Bogden Avenue; Apt. #850; San Diego, CA 91921". An address he would make himself remember.

It was a letter from an eight-year-old with messy scribbles, written in a red colored pencil. The folds creased the paper and wrinkled it. One corner seemed to have a water stain on it. But Jean didn't care; it was perfect.

_October 2nd 2001_

_Dear Jean hello,_

_My name is Marco Bodt! I live in California, and I am eight years old. I like to play with my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Lego’s. What do you like to do? My favorite food is spaghetti pasta with tomato sauce. What is your favorite food? When I grow up, I want to be a chef so I can cook yummy foods and give good food to the entire world! What do you want to do when you get older?_

_Please write back!_

_Marco Bodt_

As soon as he was done reading it, Jean dashed up to his room and looked for a piece of paper to write with. His imagination was already thinking about what Marco Bodt was doing, if he was just as excited to hear from him, if he was already waiting for a reply. He reread the letter before he started to come up with a reply:

_October 13th 2001_

_Dear Marco hello,_

_My name is Jean Kirschtein. I live in Virginia and I am eight years old too! I like to play with my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles too. Who is your favorite turtle? My favorite food is ommlit. My mommy makes them for me. I will send some to you so you can taste them too. When I grow up, I want to be a Power Ranger._

_Will you be my friend?_

_Jean Kirschtein_

It was slow, and it was silly, but it made him happy. For years, Jean would contact his friend in California. For years, he would write him a letter the day he received his, even when they had the chance to email, but Marco didn't have enough money for a laptop or a fancy phone, though neither minded how they communicated as long as they were able to send something. For years, they would get to know each other by words and by pictures that were only able to capture the stilled recollection of memories past, making up his voice to try and figure out how he was speaking, the tone and volume and sound. They would be best friends, comforters, support, always the penpal who would do anything for a person he had never met in real life. And that was how they worked, and that was how they liked it.

x-x-x

_June 16th 2004_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Dad sent your birthday gift in the mail yesterday. Sorry it’s so late; I blame my little brother for it because he used up all the wrapping paper that I was gonna use and he pooped in the box we were going to pack it in. He’s really gross._

_I’m still jealous that you already graduated the fifth grade and summer break starts in a whole week and a half for me. How sunny is it in California? Is it really hot? Connie says that it’s so hot in California, your face will melt off. Has your face ever melted off, Marco? Was it the left or the right side? Did you die?_

_The other day, I got really sad because we compared our heights from the beginning of the year to the end, and I was shorter than everyone else. Jaeger called me a seahorse and then laughed in my face, but I punched his face and took his Capri Sun, so it’s alright. It was strawberry kiwi._

_I really hope you like your birthday present. I looked all over the store for it, and I had to beg my mom and put away the Lucky Charms with the extra marshmallows to get it. But it was worth it because it’s for you. I’m not gonna tell you what it is, though, because you need to find out for yourself. You’re gonna love it._

_When your graduation pictures come in, can you send me one? I get to take mine next week and I’ll send you some. I don’t have a horseface. I’m really, really handsome._

_Happy birthday,_

_Jean_

_P.S. Tag, you’re it_

x-x-x

_April 7th 2007_

_Dear Jean hello,_

_Your birthday present should be arriving soon. I sent it the other day, and I made it myself. I think art is really cool! Self-portraits are really hard, though, and I haven’t seen a picture of you since seventh grade because you had a pepperoni pizza for a face, and you said you would drive to California to kick me in the nuts if I ever mentioned or saw it. I’m still hoping you like it though!_

_My mom is trying to get me to play the guitar for her performances, but I don’t like playing it. There are too many chords and notes to remember, and she won’t let me play the piano because she already has someone who does that for her. I think she wants me to be a musician, because Los Angeles is only two hours away so that I can “rise to fame” somehow. But I don’t want to do it her way._

_I want to cook for people. I want to open up a restaurant with tasty dishes from around the world. I want to serve customers and make them come back next week, and have them as regulars. Cooking is fun! It’s like a science experiment, but without all the messy science stuff. Someday, I will have my own restaurant, and I will be my own chef, and I will make you all the omelettes you want!_

_Do you know what you want to be yet? Mom said that kids my age should know what we want to be when we're older, but your answer always changes. Remember when you said you wanted to be Raphael from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and you broke your arm because you tried to do a flip like they did? Maybe you can work for me at my restaurant until you can figure it out. But I need to come up with a name for it first. How about “Robodt’s Restaurant”?_

_Happy Birthday,_

_Marco_

_P.S.: Can I send another word search?_

x-x-x

_[February 26th 2010]_

_Marco, help. I kissed Eren Jaeger. It wasn’t even a nice kiss, it tasted weird. Like bubblegum. I think he was chewing gum. But I didn’t do anything intimate._

_Right now, I’m just trying not to freak out in Connie’s bathroom. We were just hanging out, me and the guys, and we were the only two in the room, and I liked it, but I didn’t at the same time. I don’t know why. It just felt weird. I mean he wasn’t expecting it, and we acted like everything was normal when the others came back. Hell, Jaeger even lied and said that he wasn’t feeling well. I think I made him sick. Can I do that? Is it okay that we kissed?_

_I don’t even know if I like guys, Marco._

_Girls are nice. I like girls, if they’re like Sasha or Mikasa. I haven’t gone out with either of them because of Connie liking Sasha and Eren being really close with Mikasa, but I would if I could. Or at least try to._

_I’ve been thinking about my sexuality a lot lately. Mom talked to me about it when she gave me The Talk; she was like, "As long as you are happy and safe, I don't mind who you fall in love with." I'm happy with girls, but this was different. Isn’t it bad for guys to kiss guys? Does this mean I’m gay?_

_I don’t know what to do anymore._

_I'll respond to the rest of your letter when I get home and just attach it to this._

_Jean_

x-x-x

_March 2nd 2010_

_Dear Jean hello,_

_Being gay is not a bad thing. And neither is liking girls. It should only be upsetting when you're in an unstable relationship, because those can be nasty. So it's okay if you kissed Eren. There's nothing wrong with that because it's nothing but a kiss. Plus, you said yourself that you two are rivals, so what's the big deal? I’ve kissed boys and girls before, and I'm fine._

_Some people make a big stink about kissing the same gender, but it doesn't mean a lot. It's like if someone likes the same color as you: it's not a crime to like something that is the same. I'm happy your mom said that to you, though! What else did she say? Have you talked to anyone about the kiss? I guess Michel would still be confused about it, but what about Lucas or your mom?_

_I hope your friends are okay with who you are. And I hope you're okay, especially. I remember when I had my first kiss. It felt weird, at first, but it turned out okay after a bit. If I had to choose, I would go with the guy. He was gentler with it and didn't go straight for my tongue._

_Congrats on the 92 on your English test! I knew you could do it! When's the next one? What book are you reading now? Our teacher gave us "Hamlet" to read, and I'm really excited. English literature is amazing to me. It has a lot character and value and there’s so much we can do with it! And French is cool too; I love "Count of Monte Cristo". What's your favorite?_

_Again, I hope everything is alright with you and Eren! Remember: it's not a bad thing to be gay._

_Now pneumonia-free,_

_Marco_

x-x-x

It was in 2012, a week before his graduation, when Jean had received his last letter from Marco Bodt. He had sent a reply to it, waited for his reply, and checked the mail on the day it should have been there, and found nothing from his Californian friend.

When it came to friendships, he worried extremely about losing one or the other due to his harsh personality. He was sarcastic and snarky, and his temper was barely under control. His language was crude. He was the kid that caused trouble wherever he went, a name and reputation he had maintained since middle school. Despite all of this, however, he cared deeply for his close-knit group of friends, and he was there for them whenever he could be there, even if he fought with them and managed to get under their skin. They were important to him, and they were all aware of that.

Perhaps Marco got tired of writing to him. Jean stayed up late before high school graduation, reading their latest letters to search for any signs of something wrong. He sent another one before he left for his graduation ceremony, asking if Marco was okay, if his family had stopped him from writing, to contact him whenever he got the chance. But there was never a reply to that either.

It was as if he had been removed off of the face of the earth, without any warning.

Jean read as many “Dear Jean hello”s as he could, begging for an answer, begging for Marco to come back into his life. But whenever he asked, there was never an answer.


	2. Breakfast and Greetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Saturday seems like a really good day to update. Yeah, let's do that.
> 
> ***Mention of underage drinking***

_Two Years Later_

“Wake up, Jay. It’s Monday.”

The voice of his roommate was muffled partially from whatever had covered his face during the night and the fact that he was still half-asleep. He pushed himself off of his stomach, removing his shirt off of his face in the process, and looked around blearily. The last he remembered, he had been reading past letters from his penpal; he did it every time the first Tuesday of October came around, as a reminder of what had started and what had ended. Instead of complying to his friend’s wishes, however, he tossed the shirt back at him and fell against the bed. Monday would have to wait; he needed real sleep.

“C’mon, asshole, get up! We don’t have time to fool around!”

If only Connie Springer wasn’t as pushy as he was.

Jean opened one tired eye to glare at the bald male before he finally sat up and stretched out the exhaustion in his limbs. The aroma of coffee was the only smell that he detected from downstairs, just as it should be. It melted into the sounds of the daily routines of his roommates: Reiner teasing Bertolt over something trivial, Eren struggling with the coffee machine and Armin assisting him. A reminder of what he had, and what was important, even if he would never admit it.

During their freshman year, a petition was signed and presented to the Deans to allow Greek fraternities and sororities onto the campus of Stohess University, located in the city of Trost. There were rules and restrictions placed on them to prevent any illegal activity and to ensure that partying was at a minimum, so that students still attended class. Jean had landed himself in Phi Gamma Delta, otherwise known as Fiji, as did the rest of his childhood friends. The girls went to Alpha Omicron Pi, abbreviated to AOPi.

After finding the shirt that had woken him up that morning and a set of his clothes in the bathroom, Jean dressed and readied himself as best he could. He grabbed a hoodie from the bedroom and headed downstairs; once he had a steaming cup of coffee, he would be allowed to socialize.

If there was anything to drink, of course.

“Where’s the rest of the coffee?” He wondered as he grabbed the empty carafe with a frown.

Armin, one of his roommates, walked over to him and inspected the coffee maker with confusion. "That's strange," he mused quietly. "I put in enough to make six. There was enough left over for you."

"Well obviously something went wrong." Whoever was the asshole that had messed with the coffee maker, on a Monday, with Jean Kirschtein, was wishing for death.

"Do you want mine?" Reiner offered, extending his thermos to the two-toned-haired male, who only shook his head.

"No, I'll just get some at the…" He stopped when he noticed the container he always used for coffee empty and in the sink. There were two people who had been handling the coffee maker, and only one who would do something like this, the same person who was the only one not in the house.

Jean grabbed his backpack from the kitchen table and headed out the door despite the questioning calls after him. Eren was already heading down the sidewalk, and was in mid-sip when he was stopped.

"Hey, Jaeger." The green-eyed male had paused to turn around, but he broke into a sprint as soon as he saw who was behind him. Jean wasted no time in going after him, chasing him down Greek Row, past the bookstore and to the dining hall. He caught up to him in little to no time at all, and as soon as he was close enough, he grabbed his thermos and emptied it into the grass.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Eren snapped, reaching for his cup that was held out of his reach.

"Why'd you do it?" He asked, voice leveled yet furious.

"Because you stole my fucking food!"

Initially, Jean opened his mouth to question him–he hadn't stolen anything, as far as he knew–but then he remembered the events of Saturday night and his glare hardened. "Okay, so when we host a party and you challenge me to a drinking contest, I have to be held accountable for my actions two days later?!"

Eren rolled his eyes. "That has nothing to do with the situation."

"You sure, because I think it does, especially when we both did shit we didn't mean to do. You started your own nudist colony, I ate your Twizzlers–"

"And you don't deserve to live, yeah."

"I was drunk, idiot."

"That doesn't matter!"

"You can't even take that into consideration?!"

Eren leaped onto Jean so that he was able to lock onto one leg with his own, one arm wrapping around his neck for balance and the other to retrieve his cup. They would have fallen into the fountain in front of them, face first, if it wasn't for a harsh shove that kept them balanced and aware of their surroundings.

"Professor Levi—I can explain, aha!" "Shit shit _shit_ , get off me, Jaeger!"

The duo broke apart as soon as they caught sight of their psychology professor, who barely reached their shoulders in height yet still managed to add a heavy layer of intimidation to his presence. “I despise Mondays as much as you two combined,” he scowled at the duo, “but I believe I speak for everyone when I advise you both to keep your murderous habits to a minimum.”

“I can totally explain why we just did this–” Eren began.

“And I don’t want to know. Save yourself the embarrassment and get to wherever you’re supposed to be.” Levi eyed them both up and down once before he walked off.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Jean nudged Eren and roughly handed him his thermos.

“Thanks for adding another reason for Levi to hate us,” he sneered.

“What are you even talking about?” The shorter glowered at him as they, finally, headed for the dining hall.

“You started it!”

“I didn’t jump on you like a fucking frog and tried to push you into a fountain, did I?!”

“You ate my Twizzlers!”

“Get over it, you can buy more!”

The duo argued until they reached the dining hall, shoving each other but not breaking into a full-blown fight, as they had tried to do before. They didn’t stop until Mikasa, Eren’s adopted sister, had caught sight of them, and Jean ceased, the duo going their separate ways for now. Aside from the fact that he would receive more backlash from her than her sibling, he still had high respect for her and didn’t want to upset her.

When he reached the group of friends’ usual spot, Jean was surprised to see a tray and a steaming cup of coffee already on the table waiting for him. He inspected it for a moment, wondering who it belonged to, when he was hit from behind by a bruising force.

“We got you breakfast, Mister Grumpy Head!” Sasha announced, peeking her head over his shoulder with a wide grin. “You’re lucky we didn’t eat all of it before it got here.”

“Why did you…” He began, but trailed off, unsure of what to say or do about the kind act.

“Armin asked us to,” Connie said from his other side, and sat down beside the tray with his own.

“That and everyone agreed that we didn’t want to deal with an asshole for the rest of the day.”

“Glad to know you’re thinking about me.” Jean sat down in the seat with his food, and, almost instantly, downed half of his coffee. The bitter taste settled on his tongue and woke him up a bit more, relaxing his irritation into a dull presence.

One by one, the rest of the members of their friend group appeared with their breakfast. They had been together since middle school, some even before that. Jean had been close friends with Sasha and Connie since they were in pre-school, when she had pushed them both down when they played “House” and demanded that they cooked dinner. Their stories and families intertwined over the years, and despite their most unique traits keeping them from a comfortable life at home, they found one in each other and built it up from there. The only one who hadn’t been with them since their younger years was Ymir, Historia’s roommate from freshman year and now girlfriend.

Eating breakfast before classes on Mondays and Fridays was a tradition they had kept since last year. They were just as loud as the others in the hall, but what set them apart from everyone else was the fact that they ate at one of the only tables that seated twelve. There were eleven of them in total, and a force to be reckoned with if anyone had anything bad to say to them.

Connie was in the middle of telling the strange dream he had had (which apparently included a female version of himself, a flamingo, and a strap-on) when Jean looked up and noticed an unfamiliar face among their “rival” frat. For some odd reason, Fiji had been at an unending war with the members of Pi Kappa Alpha, Pike for short, and it showed no signs of letting up. Though, as far as the two-toned-haired male had known, there was no freckled member who had eyes as dark as whiskey, and a smile as warm as sunlight.

“Who’s that hanging out with the Pricks?” Jean wondered past a mouthful of bread.

“Come on, Jay, I’m in the middle of my story!” Connie frowned, though a number of eyes still wandered over to the subject in question.

“What are you talking about?” Eren asked with a snort. “That’s all of them.”

The taller raised an eyebrow at that, amber eyes following the dark-haired male. “The freckled one too?”

“Oh, that’s Mark or something,” Ymir answered him. “We’re gay freckled buddies together.”

“Wasn’t he Daz’s roommate freshman year?” Historia asked.

“Oh yeah, he was.”

“I think we borrowed notes from him before,” Sasha mused quietly. “Hey Connie, didn’t he help us with that terrarium project?”

“From last year?” The bald male looked at the Pike in question before realization hit him. “Oh yeah! He’s chill.”

“He’s been here just as long as we have,” Mikasa stated.

“How have I not seen him until now?” Jean mumbled. He had known all six faces of Pike since Greek life had started at Stohess, but he couldn’t recall anything about this strange member.

“Because you’re an idiot,” Eren replied.

“I didn’t ask you.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Has everyone talked to him but me?”

“If you’re so concerned about it, go up and talk to him,” Reiner offered.

For a brief moment, Jean wondered if it would be wise to go up and talk to him out of the blue. Pike and Fiji hadn’t kept their rivalry a secret, and if this guy truly was a member of Pi Kappa Alpha, it would be strange for anyone who saw it that they were conversing. On the other hand, there was something magnetizing about this character, who still hadn’t gotten in line for breakfast and was looking at the menus, as if he had never seen them.

Before anyone could stop him, he was standing up and making his way to the person in question. He noticed that the freckled male was barely taller than him, the brown spots on his skin most prominent on his cheeks. The student from Fiji stood by his side, looking at the same menu before he cleared his throat, gathering the Pike’s attention.

“I hear the English muffin order is the best thing on the menu,” he started, gesturing to the list, “but if you want my opinion, the omelet takes it by a landslide.”

At first, the taller was taken aback, wide eyes blinking in shock from the sudden presence. Not a split second later, however, he was grinning and laughing. “Is that your biased opinion?” He asked, voice light and full of a joy for life that couldn’t be rivalled.

It was strong and convincing enough to bring a rise of his lips to his own face. “Maybe, maybe not. I mean, if I could have it my way, I’d have you–” Jean tried to bite back the words before they were out, but failed, and frowned. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud; he was just as good with words as a newborn. “Wait, shit, that doesn’t work out–”

Another laugh, still kept up by the same grin. “I’d like to have you too, so,” he shrugged, “it works out for both of us.” He extended one hand out for a shake, with Jean gladly took. “I’m Marco!”

 _Marco. Of course he is._ “Jean.” He let his hand drop and duck back into his hoodie.

“Zhan.” Marco nodded at the name with a satisfied expression. “I like it!”

 _Shit, is this guy a joke?_  “So are you from around here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’ve gone to Stohess for three years, if that’s what you mean. But no, I’m originally from San Diego, California.”

Marco. With freckles. From San Diego. This couldn’t be the same guy, the same person who had written him since third grade and stopped right before he graduated high school. The boy who dreamed of becoming a chef so he could cook for people and make them happy was here, in front of him.

His smile was more amazing than he had imagined.

The boy from California—how was this possible?—leaned forward into his field of vision and waved a hand, fingers long and splattered with freckles along the knuckles. “Are you alright?”

Jean nodded, hesitant as he was, before he forced himself to look away. If he was going to drift off, he would rather it be away from Marco. There was a side of him that refused to bring up their past, to be completely sure that this was the same Marco he had written to before he made any big decisions. “I’m fine, I just…remembered that I have to go to class now.” Smooth, Kirschtein. _Really convincing._

“Oh.” Marco nodded, a brief flash of puzzlement on his features—his face was so easy to read—before he smiled bashfully. “Well, I hope I didn’t keep you—”

“No, not at all.” _You? Never._ Jean started to walk off, unsure of what else to say. Luckily, and thankfully, he was beaten to saying anything in his awkward shuffle backwards, in the direction of his first class.

“See you around, Jean!” Marco called out to him with a wave.

The cheerful voice, the bright grin that churned his stomach and twisted his heart–he was shocked he could even answer the freckled male at all.

“See you around.”


	3. Recollections and Acknowledgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that Eld and Gunther would have been good friends with Jean. I just hope their personalities are semi-accurate to canon? Like they don't show up for very long, sadly, so it's mostly fanon characteristics? I don't really know.
> 
> By the way, I keep on forgetting to say this: thank you so much for the support you continue to give on this story! <3 It gives me that fluttery stomach feeling to see the kudos and the hits uwu So thank you!

Jean didn’t go to his first class that morning. And even if he did, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to understand what was happening. He liked Professor Zacharius, and he enjoyed learning more about the basics of music, but right now, he couldn’t sit down and do any of that. His thoughts were too jumbled by freckles and warm smiles and the idea that his penpal, his Marco, was on the same campus.

The possibility of the Pike being the same Marco he had grown up with was high, but he couldn’t confirm that it was him. Marco wasn’t a unique enough name for him to point out that this was his penpal; Jean would feel the same way if his name was “Robert” or “Michael”. But he was from San Diego, and he had been looking at a menu that was purely vegetarian. Marco had once said that he felt bad about eating animals, and had been a vegetarian since he was ten. He would have been a vegan as well if the meals weren’t as pricy, but cutting meat out of his diet was enough for him.

If this was his penpal from third grade, who had never responded to his letter, whom he had fallen in love with when he came to terms with his sexuality, then there were going to be a lot of questions once he confirmed his identity.

Jean went to the only place that he knew he would be able to think without any distractions. Going home to Fiji’s house was an option, but he knew he would be tempted to read the letters he had received, and that wasn’t what he need. Luckily, the internship he had at a local radio station was close enough and sufficient for his needs.

“Hey, Jean,” one of the hosts, Eld, greeted him as he walked in. According to his memory, they were getting new equipment that morning, and would be occupied with getting it set up during the day. “You’re not playing today, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” he dropped his backpack by the door and walked across the room to the recording studio for instruments that was adjacent to the one for the radio personalities. “I just have a lot on my mind. Needed to get somewhere."

“Huh." The blond smirked at him from over an unopened delivery box. "So you're skipping?”

The college student rolled his eyes and, after messing with the lock on the door, got into the studio. He hoped that this didn't turn into a game of "Twenty Questions". “Maybe.”

The second host, Gunther, entered from another room and placed down two smaller boxes. “Go to class, Jean,” he sighed.

“It’s Zacharius; it’s not like he’ll rip my head off.”

Eld chuckled at that, tying back his blond hair in its usual folded ponytail. “He’s six-foot-five and you’re positive he’s not gonna 'rip your head off'?"

"I've never seen him raise his voice at a student, so yeah."

"Hah! You know Nanaba, the veterinary professor?"

"I've heard of her before; I know someone who's in her major."

"She has a thousand and one stories on their college years–unlike anything you've ever heard."

"Jean, ignore him," Gunther stated, ignoring the mocking face Eld made behind his back. "Just because it's an easy class doesn't mean you can skip. Especially when it has to do with what you're majoring in."

The two-toned-haired male sighed and leaned against the doorframe. He had no intention of telling either of them what was wrong, but it looks like he wouldn't have a choice after all. "Look…I ran into someone I haven't talked to in a long time and I don't know…" He let it a frustrated sigh, clenched his fist against the wall. "I don't know how I should feel about it. It's making me sick. I just need to breathe on my own for a little bit."

A look of sympathy crossed over both of their expressions, even if the blond was more obvious about it. For a second, Jean wasn't sure if they were going to say anything; they seemed to be communicating with each other in the strange, telepathic way that they always did. The duo had been best friends since high school, and roommates since college. Although he wasn't sure if they were actually dating–with Eld as relaxed and carefree as he was, and Gunther diligent and serious, they gave off mixed signals to what was behind their friendship status–he knew it was a relationship he wished to have one day with his own partner.

"Take however long you need to clear your head," Gunther instructed, though it lacked any real strictness to it and was more cautious, soft, as if he was an understanding parent talking to a child. "Then, if you want, you can help us set up the new equipment."

"But if you don't, no big deal," Eld added. "Maybe it'll help you a little bit more."

"Just don't hurt yourself."

"I wasn't intending to," Jean replied, and then paused before he shut himself in the studio. "Thanks again. For letting me stay."

"No problem." "This is pretty much your second home, so. No worries, kid."

Jean had always enjoyed music as much as anyone else, though his take on it was different than most. His father was in a band and constantly traveling, even to that day, while his mother sang on Sundays at the church services. He had taught himself how to play piano, and kept it as his instrument of choice. Although he played guitar, both electric and acoustic, at the radio station, there was something about a piano that calmed him down and let his mind wander. The plunk of slender keys and the soft notes they rang out, the volume of each one dependent on the way it’s pressed–it was enchanting to play, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

For nearly an hour, he let his fingers wander over the keys and play whatever came to mind first. The mini-performance ranged from classical, familiar pieces to modern-day songs to even simple chords and scales. At one point, he didn’t do anything but press the keys, one by one, fingers long and slim from years of playing, the tips particularly coarse from plucking guitar strings. Jean continued until he was able to think with a clear head. He would see Marco again, he was sure of it; Pike and Fiji were only three houses down from one another. But he would pass that bridge when he came to it. The chances of their paths crossing again were unlikely, and it would do him no good if he worried about it.

Instead, to pass more time until he had to leave, he helped Eld and Gunther set up the new equipment. It had taken a few minor rearrangements and a couple risky journeys over misplaced cables, but with Eld’s humorous storytelling, and Gunther’s reactions, it did nothing but help the musician. He was confident, in no time, that the problem would be resolved.

“So about this mystery person that had you locked up playing Mozart,” the blond asked as he went under the desk to fix the mess of cables. “Who are they?”

Jean had been waiting for the question to arise–the radio duo had been like brothers to him since he had met them–and, after his period of solitude, didn’t surprise him as much to hear it. “Just someone I used to talk to,” he answered as he coiled up the cables from the old microphones.

“Oooh, love interest?”

“As much as you and Gunther are, yeah.”

A loud laugh came from under the table, followed by a slew of swears from the dark-haired male, who was glaring at them from the opposite side of the room.

“I have a girlfriend, actually,” Eld informed him.

“Professor Ral doesn’t count.”

“Haha, you’re hilarious.”

“Her name is Jessica,” Gunther corrected him. “He calls her his girlfriend, but she’s really a good friend.”

Jean smirked; “Is that the truth or jealousy talking?”

“Alright, look, you little shit—”

“What about you, Jay?” The radio host under the table called out, crawling back out and standing back up. “Did you date this mystery person?”

“No, we didn’t have that type of relationship,” he admitted. Eld held out a hand for a mic stand, and the intern handed it to him. “We were penpals for a while.”

Eld snorted at that, a wily smile on his face. “I didn’t realize this was 1999.”

“Shut up; it was a project we had to do in third grade. We just didn’t stop.”

“Where’s he from?” Gunther asked. “Since he’s a penpal, he’s not someone who lived close by, right?”

“He’s from San Diego, originally. But we haven’t talked in two years, so…” He paused, thinking of how to word the next half of his sentence. “It’s complicated. He… He doesn’t know that we wrote each other.”

The duo paused what they were doing, both equally confused and bewildered by his statement. “Wait, so…you wrote each other for x amount of years, and he doesn’t know who you are?”

“He didn’t mention it when I introduced myself! I don’t really have a first name that a majority of the planet has.”

“I bet you ten bucks he thought your name was ‘Gene’,” Eld suggested, followed by a cackle. “If he’s been convinced all this time that your name is Gene, I’m gonna lose it!”

Jean huffed and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder; “I’m going to class.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Gunther warned, a smirk of his own on his face.

“Yeah, see ya tomorrow, Gene!”

“I hate you both.”

The walk from the radio station to his next class didn’t take very long; he still had some minutes to spare before class started. He just hadn’t been expecting the barrage of questions to hit him once he got to his usual seat and set his backpack down.

“So how’d it go?”

Jean looked up to see the rest of Fiji and AOPi, previously having their own conversations, now focused on him. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, Con.”

“Oh come on, man,” the bald male snorted. “What happened with the freckled guy?”

A casual shrug. He hadn’t told any of them much about his penpal, only because he knew what their reactions would be and he didn’t want to hear any of it. “He’s nice.”

Connie blinked owlishly, as if he couldn’t believe what had just been said. “That’s it?”

“You made a big deal out of not knowing who he was to just say ‘he’s nice’?” Eren said incredulously.

The musician scowled. “What else do you want me to say?! We didn’t get to talk for that long!”

“Yeah, but even you can come up with something better than that bullshit!”

“He was really nice! Does that make you feel better? Will you sleep better at night, knowing that the freckled Prick was ‘really nice’?!”

“Umm, is this seat taken?”

Jean whipped around at the familiar voice, and saw none other than Marco, standing by the seat with a sheepish smile. Words left his mouth at the realization that they had the same class and he had never known until now. “No, you can take it,” he finally answered; his face burned with embarrassment and the recollection of the words that had spewed from his mouth. It was bad enough he hadn’t revealed who he was, and now he had blurted out one of the only things that he didn’t want him to hear.

Marco relaxed visibly, his grin more cheerful this time around. “Thanks!” He dropped his bookbag beneath the desk and sat down. “I would have sat in my regular seat, but it was taken.”

“You didn’t want to take it back? Not that I don’t mind you sitting here.” Turning his back to the snickering that came from certain friends (he wasn’t sure what that was about), the musician sat down beside him.

The freckled male shrugged; “I could have, yeah, but it’s just a seat, right? I don’t own it. I just sit in that spot for this class, and then I leave and do other things.”

Jean hummed with a nod. “That’s true.” He paused, figuring out what to say next that could start a pleasant conversation. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

A faint smile, almost teasing, appeared on his features. “I didn’t know I was a freckled prick, so I guess we’re even again, huh?”

 _Well shit._ He chuckled, albeit nervously at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I can explain that—”

The slamming of the door cut the conversations and sent the lecture hall into a scramble of quiet and seated students. The silence that followed afterwards could detect the dropping of a pin. For a moment, it seemed as if the world itself had gone still until a pair of shoes padded down the stairs and to the front of the room. Professor Levi eyed the room with indifference before he noticed the unusual seating arrangement, particularly where Marco and Jean were sitting.

“I thought Fiji and Pike were sworn enemies,” he commented, gesturing to the duo.

Marco stole a quick glance over at him, with the brief hint of realization on his face, before he spoke up; “There were no other seats, Professor. So I took this one.”

“This is a psychology class, not musical chairs. If you want to do that, I suggest you take Zacharius.” Eyes as gray as gunmetal swept over the class. “Page thirty-four. One whine, and I'll kick you out face first."

This was his usual routine: a slammed door, a mixture of an evaluation and an insult to a random student, and then the start of a lecture. It was who he was, and if no one could come terms with that, he had no problem with asking them to leave. His teaching style was interesting: fast-paced, yet definitely something that had to be written down and listened to. If it came out of his mouth, there was an extremely high possibility of it showing up again on an exam. Textbooks were for reference or a better understanding, though he insisted on having them open for the students’ convenience.

"Jaeger," Levi lifted a book from the small pile on his desk, "can you see what this is?"

Eren paused from his notes to look up at the professor. "It's a book."

"Congratulations. You have identified the obvious, Mister Kindergartener. Now for first grade–I hope you can read. What does it say on the front?"

"…' _Macbeth_ '." It was evident in his voice that he was holding back his irritation. If there was one person the professor bugged more than anyone else, it was Eren.

"Mm. The British version of Hugo's ' _Les Miserables_ ': everyone dies." Levi started to pace, his other hand tapping the back of the book. "From a glance, you see it as a book. That torture device every English teacher slobbers over. A classic Shakespearean play. A bundle of papers held together by leather. But when you open it," he flipped to a random page, leafing through them effortlessly, "it's more than just that. It has a meaning and a lesson and a purpose.

"We are similar, in a way. We may look simple on the outside, but we have secrets. We can tell a lot from the outside as well as we can by communicating with another–and without doing much." The book closed and was once again presented to the class. "A classic play. That one British author that wrote sad, romantic shit and died a long time ago. Blue. Dramatic. An insane woman talks to herself and swears at a spot that isn't there. There's so much more you can find out from something or someone, and just by one glance. Kirschtein."

Jean looked up immediately, startling him from his leaning position. The coffee was starting to wear down, and his lack of sleep was catching up to him.

"Up here. Now."

With a sigh, the musician stood and maneuvered his way to the front of the lecture hall. For a moment, Levi walked around him in examination, humming as his eyes inspected the taller. Jean watched, yet he tried to make it look as if he was uninterested. He wasn’t afraid of the professor, but his gaze was one not desired to be under scrutiny. What he didn't own in height, he made up for in intimidation.

"You're a musician, for one. There are a pair of drumsticks sticking out of your pocket. You stand up straighter to make yourself look taller–to add intimidation? Your fists are tense and your face is scowling; you're either ready for a fight, or you have a short temper. Or both. Your sneakers are torn and broken, as is your hoodie, so you're reluctant to give up on them—and the same can probably be said for other things as well. Friends, broken toys, memories? And might I add: you puff your chest out like a peacock trying to show off his feathers to a peahen, but you can be very obvious in showing how you truly feel about someone. You fight with Jaeger, and you get along with Springer and Braus—put away those damn potato chips, Braus, before I rip them from you myself. Whatever you're trying to hide is not going to remain a secret for very long, with the act you're currently keeping up."

For a long while, Jean stared at Levi, amber eyes wide and shocked from the analysis that had been given of him. Some of them had been obvious traits about him, yes. But the professor had been able to pick something out about him that was extremely relatable to what he was going through with Marco–if it could even be referred to in such a way–and that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

"Sit down, Kirschtein. You're boring me. All of you are to give a report—a _list_ is all I ask for—of any findings you see of any person, particularly one you do not know well. And quit your groaning. You sound like a group of impregnated whales." The professor made his way to the desk and sat down, organizing papers and leaning back in his seat. "You're free to go. Don't do anything stupid or illegal, blah blah blah, I'll try to attend your funeral if you die, yadda yadda get the hell out."

The group of student filed out of the room slowly, and the chatter built up once more. Jean simply stared at his papers as if it would combust into dozens of pieces.

A small flick at his ear brought him back to reality. "Cut the fucking shit, Jean, I'm talking to you," Connie snapped. "We're going to the dining hall for lunch if you wanna join." His eyes flickered up to Marco, who was preoccupied in putting his belongings away, before back at his friend, but Sasha commented on it before he did.

"And then you can tell us about your morning adventure," she teased with a wide beam and a wink.

The musician scowled once the duo was chatting and departing, before he started to put his things away. The rest of his friends had already started to leave, telling him of their whereabouts. Reiner had started to say something teasingly, but had held his tongue back and only patted the shorter male's shoulder. _Wise ass._

Marco began to leave before Jean spoke up and stopped him in his tracks. "Hey, before you leave, I…want to apologize for what I said earlier."

The Californian tilted his head to the side at the statement. "What do you mean?"

"Err, the 'freckled Prick' comment. I wasn't trying to call you a prick; it's just a nickname I use for Pike. Which doesn't make it any better, but still…I wasn’t trying to insult you."

Marco hummed quietly at that, his eyes wandering to where the "leader" of the Pike fraternity, Thomas Wagner, was waiting for him. "I get it. Pike and Fiji are rivals. It's just something you say."

"What—no, hell no, I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what are you trying to say?" His features were nothing but seriousness and puzzlement, eyes wide and quietly begging for an answer.

"…let's have lunch. I want to take you to lunch."

"Me?"

"You."

"…I… When?"

"Err…tomorrow? Since it looks like we both have plans today."

"Why?"

"Why…?"

"Why do you want to take me out?"

 _Because you deserve nice things. Because you're nice and I want to get to know you all over again. Because you betrayed me and left me hanging and never replied to my last letter._ "To make up for what I said before."

"Oh. You don't have to."

"But I want to. If it's alright with you. I won't freak out if you say no."

Marco paused, bit his lip, and then nodded. A small smile, faint as it was, appeared on his face. "Tomorrow sounds good then. Lunch!"

Jean couldn't help but give him a similar grin, wide and ecstatic for lunch tomorrow. "Lunch it is then."

“Oh, and by the way,” he turned back around, the rise of his lips teasing yet genuine in its nature, “you were right. The omelet beats the English muffin by a landslide.”

He waited until Marco was gone before he let out a long groan, exasperated and exhausted from the day. The fact that this guy could potentially be his penpal and was attractive in general, even if he was in Pike, ate at his insides the more he thought about it. He couldn’t do one without the other; getting to know this guy romantically before he knew more about him was a bad mistake in general. Thankfully, he had been smart enough to schedule a meetup tomorrow, which would give him a better chance of finding out who this Marco was, the smiling ball of freckles from San Diego.

x-x-x

“So, any chance that you guys were gonna tell me you've met Marco before?"

Sasha and Connie shared the same puzzled look as Jean sat down across from them in the dining hall. “What are you talking about?” The brunette asked before stuffing her mouth with fries.

“The cute freckled guy that sat next to me today in psych.”

“You mean the Prick?” Connie inquired.

“Pike.”

“If he’s in Pike, then he’s a Prick.”

“This guy’s different, Con.” Jean let out a sigh in irritation, hands dragging through the lighter part of his hair. He trusted the dynamic duo more than he trusted most, and he knew, as much as he regretted it, he would have to explain to them what made him stick out from the other members of their rival fraternity. “Remember that penpal assignment we had in third grade?”

“Nope.” “Oh yeah. Mine never wrote back to me after the first letter.”

“You know how I never really stopped writing to mine?”

“Wait, hold on,” Connie held up a hand, carelessly leaving his food available for Sasha to nab. “You mean all those times you were writing to someone and you never told us who was a guy you’ve been writing since the fucking third grade?”

“His name is Marco, he’s from San Diego, and I think he’s that guy in Pike.”

Sasha burst out laughing at that, leaning over her food and causing a number of passersby to glance warily at her. “I can’t believe you’ve been writing to him since third grade! You’re so lonely!”

The musician let his head fall on the table with a bang; this was the reaction he was hoping he wouldn’t get. He had doubted himself enough during his time of writing letters to someone he had never met in real life, but the relationship they had build and the experiences he had had with him, because of him, made up for it. If it wasn’t for Marco, he wouldn’t have ever come to terms with his sexuality, and he might even be pining over Mikasa still. Though he might not have fallen for someone who lived on the other side of the country.

“I can’t wait to tell—”

She had barely finished speaking before he was sitting up and roughly grabbing the cell phone out of her hand.

“No. You tell no one about this.”

Sasha frowned and whined; "Come on, Jean! That's not fair!"

"It's perfectly fair. I kept this a secret for a reason. Just…wait until I tell Marco, alright?"

"Fine…"

"Especially you, baldy."

Connie sputtered and dropped the piece of chicken he was about to eat, leaving it for the female beside him to pick it up and eat. "Why me?!"

"Because you can't keep a secret!"

"That's not true! I can totally keep secrets!"

"When we were twelve, you told the whole playground that I was in love with Mikasa!"

"That's true," Sasha shrugged.

"We were twelve! Everyone does dumb things when they're twelve!"

"Also true."

"At least I didn't go crazy after her like a lunatic!"

"I got out of it by the time we started high school!"

"Hey, guys, let's not start fighting in the middle of the dining hall," the brunette frowned. "How about we go get milkshakes and be friends?"

Although it was with reluctance, Jean agreed nonetheless. He only hoped that his decision to tell the two people he was able to trust wouldn't blow up in his face.


	4. Strikes and Sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Jean Kirschtein, man. What are you gonna do with him?
> 
> Small mentions to Christianity in the chapter. Just so everyone knows. It's not a bashing or anything like that, but they do make a joke of Marco being somewhat (or a lot) of a Freckled Jesus and go from there. So. Just to make sure.
> 
> I love all of your faces

It was to Jean's dismay the next day when he realized he had never set a time or place for his lunch date with Marco. He wasn’t even sure where he would find him; did he know where he would be? Were their classes close together? If he was unable to solve this minor mystery, he would have to leave it be for now and wait until their paths crossed once again.

On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, at one in the afternoon, he was scheduled for his internship at the radio station. He had an hour and a half before he had to go, and was bringing his guitar with him so he could transfer easily from one place to the next. Jean was texting the rest of his fraternity, to let them know of his whereabouts, when he bumped into someone and nearly dropped his phone. There was a quiet "oomph" from whoever he had knocked shoulders with, but he was too occupied with keeping his phone in his hands to focus on him. Until he recognized who he had ran into.

"Marco. Hi."

The Pike, frazzled from suddenly knocking into him, smiled at him. "Hey, Jean; I was just about to come find you."

"Same here; I forgot you didn't have a cell phone." This had certainly made things easier for him. Now he didn't have to waste time looking for him, giving him more time with the Californian than he had initially expected.

Marco's smile stayed, though with partial confusion as he tilted his head to the side. "How did you know I don't have a cell phone?"

Jean froze at the question with fear, stomach flipping at the realization of his mistake. Marco had only written in his letters that he was unable to afford a cell phone. He had never said it in the short time span of their face-to-face conversations. "I, ah…I guessed. Because you didn't have it yesterday when we talked. But everyone else did?"

Although the freckled male didn't look convinced at all, he nodded and dropped the issue immediately. "Alright, well, I'm ready to go when you are!"

"I was just about to head back to Fiji's actually; I have something to go to afterwards, so I figured I would bring my things with me. If that's cool with you."

"Yeah, go ahead! Should I wait here for you?"

Jean had already started to walk to Fiji's house. "I don't care; you can do whatever you want, honestly."

The taller matched his stride perfectly; “I’ve never actually passed by Fiji’s house, I don’t think.”

“Well, you never had a reason to, I guess.”

“That’s true. I never really participated in the rivalry either.”

Jean stopped himself before answering; Marco was a member of a fraternity that did not get along with his own. If he invited him over, especially with his roommates not knowing who he was, it would only cause trouble. At the same time, however, he wanted to take advantage of any time that he had with him.

“Come over Saturday—if you want. The football game is away, and we’re not doing anything. Except for have a few beers, maybe chips?” He had always had difficulty at inviting others to events or get-togethers, especially when he held romantic feelings towards them.

Thankfully, Marco didn't seem to dwell too much on it, his smile one of pure joy. "I like that idea; let's do it!" The shorter let out a sigh of relief, at the fact that he hadn’t messed up and that he was going to see him again. “Good. How does twelve sound?”

“Twelve sounds great!” His smile was enough to sooth the growing worry in his gut.

In regards to retrieving his guitar, Jean didn’t take very long, as it was already in the kitchen. He switched the case for his backpack and tossed it over his shoulder before walking back out to Marco.

“You play guitar?” The Californian wondered, eyeing the instrument with interest.

“No, xylophone.” Maro’s expression changed from wonder to confusion, and brought a laugh out of Jean in return. “Yes, it’s a guitar. I have an internship at the local radio station; I play the music behind some of the segments they do.”

His smile returned in full force, followed by a laugh.

“That’s awesome! You’ll have to take me to see you someday.”

“Yeah, someday.”

Jean froze up then, and they slipped into a silence that would have been comfortable if he hadn’t been so anxious. He scowled at himself for being awkward and the obviousness of his walking on eggshells. Talking to others pleasantly had never been something that had come naturally to him, but he had no other choice. He had to make sure that he had a chance to talk to Marco, one way or another.

When they reached the dining hall, the dark-haired male opening the door for him, the conversation started back up again. “So, what are you majoring in?”

“I’m going for a degree in business,” he replied. “I want to be a chef, but they don’t have anything for culinary here, so the next best thing for me to do is to learn about business.”

Even though he already suspected what he could do with that, Jean reminded himself that their possible past was still a mystery. He couldn't reveal another fact about him. "Why would you need a business degree?"

"Well, I want to run my own restaurant someday. It's better to know what I'm doing, right?"

"Impressive." This is him. It can't be anyone else. As obvious as it had been from the start, it was comfortable to know for sure that this was Marco Bodt who wrote "Dear Jean hello" on every letter he wrote and who captured his heart without even knowing it. He couldn’t help but scoff at the difference between them; "I just wanna make music. That's it."

Marco laughed in return. "But that's still good! You can never go wrong with making music."

 _You said the same thing when I first told you that._ "Well, if you're good. But for the most part, yeah."

"You know, I used to know someone who said the same thing."

His eyebrows rose at the statement, as if he was interested, though his throat ran dry and his hands froze. They had gotten in the line for sandwiches and he already felt his legs about to collapse. "Really?"

"Mhm; Gene Kirshteen was his name. Hah, kinda similar to yours, but not by a lot."

_Gene Kirschteen._

_We were penpals for ten years and he thinks my name is Gene fucking Kirschteen._

"Gene Kirschteen, huh? Sounds like an asshole."

"Yeah, sometimes." _Gee, thanks._ "But it's who he was. And he wasn't like that all the time. Sometimes, he was really pleasant to talk to. He's a big part of my life."

The words softened Jean up, almost to the point of incomprehension. "Do you still talk to him?"

Marco shook his head, accompanied by a heavy cloud of sadness that took over both of them. "No. We lost contact. I guess that's what happens when you go to college, right?"

"…yeah. Right."

It was as good as an opportunity to confess now. All Jean had to do was correct him in the pronunciation of his name and it would be enough. It had to be. He could do it, so close, and then he could stop playing this game, stop digging himself into a pit he couldn't climb out of.

"You know, the sandwiches are really good here. I don't come here a lot for lunch, but I've heard they're fantastic."

Instead of getting out, however, he looked up at the menu and continued downwards. He was already beating himself up for moving on, and if he didn't get something out today, he knew he would never do it.

"I've only had them a few times, but they've been great when I've gotten them," the Californian commented in return–casual, as if the previous conversation hadn't happened. It was a wave of relief and a stab to the gut, all in one.

"One of the members of AOPi, Historia, she says the veggie options are really good."

"Oh, well, that's good to hear—"

"Since you're a vegetarian and all—"

 _Strike two._ Another reveal of the knowledge he had on Marco Bodt that only increased the progress of the hole.

Marco glanced over at him; he could practically feel the wandering of whiskey brown eyes, up and down, concentrating specifically on his face. It was a predator stalking his wounded prey, though minus the aggression to be replaced by a mixture of bewilderment and suspicion. Jean ignored it as best he could, putting in his food order as his mind scrambled for a coverup.

"So. Ah. Pike, right? Why did you choose them?"

It was a poor attempt, but it was better than nothing.

The chef put in his order and then let out a long sigh before he returned to his cheerful mood from before. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped, the change was so quick. "Well, I was already good friends with them when Greek life came here, so it wasn't a big change. But what they do for the community and kids who don't have anyone was mostly it. I mean, growing up as an only child, I wanted someone to look after me when no one else could, and I never got that. I wanna give kids the chance to have that opportunity."

"That's…nice." _He's a fucking angel. How is someone so nice?_ "I bet next, you'll walk on water or turn water into wine, right?"

His smile appeared, effortless and bright; "Yeah, for the most part. And then I'll feed the hungry with a few fish."

"I'll be your first apostle."

"There was John, right? And Jean is close enough!"

"Hah, exactly. I'll even write a book or two."

The next few minutes consisted of the duo grabbing their food and drinks. Marco found a seat for them while Jean, who insisted on taking responsibility for their food, got both drinks and food, as well as any additional snacks. Their seats had a nice scenic view of the football stadium and, right past it, the bustling life of downtown Trost.

“So,” Marco hummed quietly as they both sat down. Jean already had a feeling as to what he was about to ask, though continued his act of obliviousness. “About what you said earlier.”

“About…?” He had already taken a bite from his sandwich, mentally preparing himself for what was about to come.

"Well, for starters, you already knew I didn't have a cell phone. Then, when we were in line, you said I was a vegetarian. And I met you yesterday."

Jean finished chewing the food in his mouth before he answered. "I took a guess.” A dark eyebrow rose at that; the chef wasn’t going to buy that very easily. “You said you were from California. Isn’t that the land of hippies or something?”

The taller laughed quietly with a shake of his head. “The hippie movement began in San Francisco, but that doesn’t mean we’re all bare feet and world peace and drugs.”

“Do you have a hippie van?”

“No, I don’t have a hippie van.”

“Have you done LSD?”

“No—"

“Cocaine? Heroin? Mare-eh-joo-wanna?”

Marco tried to suppress a grin, but he began to laugh soon after. “I don’t do drugs–and I’m not Buddhist, before you ask.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about that–but now that you mention it…” Jean was simply teasing as told by the mischievous smirk on his face. He was enjoying this too much.

“I mean I'm not that much of a hippie, I don't think. I like world peace, sure, and I don't like how animals are tested on or mistreated–"

"Oh God, you're not from PETA, are you?"

"Being an animal rights activist doesn’t mean you’re associated with PETA. I just don’t like how we treat animals today. It’s…immoral. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a person if you were hungry, right?”

“Well, it depends. Does this person have food when they said that they would bring it?”

“Err…I guess that can be an exception?” The dark-haired male chuckled. “It depends, I guess. Personally, I just don’t believe that we should treat animals for food purposes.”

“But you’ll use them in your cooking.”

_You dumb fuck, that was the third strike. Now he's gonna know something's up._

“I mean…will you use them?”

Once again, silence fell between the duo, just as it had before. Marco’s eyes narrowed at the statement, suspicion swimming in dark chocolate eyes. “You did it again.”

“Did what?”

“You can’t cover up that easily, Jean. You know so much about me but we've only known each other for a day."

He kept his gaze locked with burning amber before he leaned forward and said in a quiet voice, “We’ve met before, haven’t we? You know more about me than I’ve said to anyone here. And there are only two people that know what I've told you."

Jean was so close to convincing himself to change the subject, even if it would fail in the long run. But he couldn't run from it anymore. He had to face the issue head-on, for better or worse, no matter what the circumstances may be.

“I can’t tell you anything yet,” the musician finally answered, trying to use the bag of chips in front of him as a distraction. Marco had fallen silent into thought, but the hurt in his eyes was loud and blaring, and almost too much to bear.

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t figured out how or when to tell you.”

“...are you a stalker?”

“What–fuck, no, Mar!”

“No one outside of my family knows I go by that name.”

It took everything within him to not admit everything right there to the freckled male. Yes, he could admit it and everything would be alright. Yes, he could stop acting like a stranger and come clean. But he didn’t have the guts to say it, to admit his wrongs and simply confess to the secret he kept that was, in hindsight, a poor excuse to even call a secret. It was their past, one of pain and joy and revelation and love, compiled into one timeline that changed both of them. And Jean wanted to tell him how he felt, how he was mad at him for never answering, how he was upset they didn't talk for two years, how he was thankful Marco showed him the light when he was too blind to notice it, how he was on the verge of falling in love with him because he was beautiful.

But he bit it back, dug the knife harder into his heart and Marco's, dug the spade into the ground and burrowed further into trouble.

“All I can say is…we’ve met before. And…that’s it. I can’t tell you more. It’s complicated…but I will tell you.”

At first, Marco was silent. He stared at Jean for a long while, as if he could find the answers to his questions that way. But the Virginian refused to let him in. Not yet, at least. He knew Marco Bodt better than anyone, yes, but he had to play this right. He had lost the vegan chef two years prior, and he refused to let him leave again.

_Please. Just trust me. Trust me like you did in your letters, like when you told me about your fear of spiders, and how you cuddle with pillows like it’s a real person, or when you told me how you don’t like the color orange because it only looks good as food._

“…promise me you’ll tell me someday.”

“I can give you a date. Not the food, maybe another date like this–but an actual date, with numbers and a month and a day.” Almost instantly, he started to rifle for his phone and pulled it out immediately. “What's today, the seventh?" He opened up the calendar app; "Saturday at noon. The eleventh. I can tell you then."

Marco hummed, smiling painfully; he nodded at the statement but said nothing in response. It was clear he was hurt by the predicament they were in, how he wanted his questions answered now.  _Just hold on a little longer, Mar. For us._

“I’ll tell you soon, Marco. I promise. I’m an idiot for keeping this a secret from you, I know, but I just… Saturday. Please be okay with Saturday."

He nodded once again, his eyes focused on his food. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “Will it be worth it?”

"Yes. I know this for a fact."

_For us, Mar. Saturday, for us._

x-x-x

"Hey Jean!"

"Don't talk to me."

"…alright, who was it this time?"

"Marco fucking Bodt."

"Who's—"

"Your ten bucks."

"…oh, wait—"

"Don't say it."

"So he actually thought your name was—"

"Eld, I'm going to make sure you never speak again if you say my name incorrectly. Don't do it."

"Alrighty, _Gene_. Let's get started!"


	5. Bonds and Schemes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Saturday, another update: hooray!
> 
> Fun fact: this is one of the longest chapters yet. Like out of all of the chapters, posted or not, it's pretty damn long. It's impressive. And a very chill chapter, as opposed to the usual chaotic stress that Jean has endured so far. But it gets better!
> 
> ***WARNING for references to drugs and alcohol***
> 
> You have a lovely face

_Friday_  
_October 10th_

 **_Group message from: Sash_ **  
_BREAKING NEWS: Pi Kappa Alpha aka Prick is having a party on Sunday. Again._

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_are u fucking kidding me_

 **_Group message from: Con Man_ **  
_she used proper punctuation and shit. she isnt kidding_

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_I'M GOING TO KILL THEM ALL IF THEY DON'T QUIT WITH THIS SHIT_

 **_Group message from: Charmin_ **  
_I would like to point out how Connie spells punctuation correctly and doesn't bother to put an apostrophe in "isn't"._

 **_Group message from: Con Man_ **  
_isnt_

 **_Group message from: Con Man_ **  
_no but seriously this isnt english class man_

 **_Group message from: Bertl_ **  
_Does it even matter if they have a party or not?_

 **_Group message from: Sash_ **  
_BERT PLEASE LEAVE THIS CAMPUS IF YOU ACTUALLY DO NOT SEE THE PROBLEM HERE OKAY THANKS_

 **_Group message from: Bertl_ **  
_But we're not going so why should it matter what they do or not_

 **_Group message to: Sash, Con Man, Shitface, Charmin, Rye Bread, Bertl_ **  
_I don't give a fuck either. They can do whatever they want._

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_no one fucking asked you horseshit_

 **_Group message to: Sash, Con Man, Shitface, Charmin, Rye Bread, Bertl_ **  
_Even if I had a shit to give, I wouldn't give it to you, fuckface._

 **_Group message from: Charmin_ **  
_Sasha we'll figure something out tomorrow, okay?_

 **_Group message from: Con Man_ **  
_i suggest the use of pitch forks and torches_

 **_Group message from: Sash_ **  
_PITCH FORKS AND TORCHES._

 **_Group message from: Rye Bread_ **  
_Reiner says to stop fucking texting him or else he'll sue all of you when he gets the law degree that he will get once you stop texting him with your drama. <3 Ymir_

 ** _Group message from: Charmin_**  
_We'll talk about it tomorrow._

x-x-x

Throughout the week, Jean had managed to hide his identity and not give away any more clues to Marco. If he hadn't known any better, the past couple of days went by without any issue. They were quick to become friends once again, after another lunch date on Thursday. Even if it had been interrupted by both of their group of friends, and Sasha had nearly toppled the entire table over when she saw Marco, it gave him hope that their relationship was improving immensely.

Jean woke up on Saturday to laughter and breakfast foods. He searched for his phone and tugged it out of its charger before he made his way downstairs. After his classes the day before, he had hung out with Marco until late at night, simply walking around campus and chatting. It was enjoyable, that was for sure, but a pain in the morning to get up.

"Greetings, Aurora," Reiner smirked, most likely referring to the the disheveled sight of the half-awake musician. His only response was a middle finger and a grumble of swears as Jean poured himself a cup of coffee. The tall blond, cooking grilled cheese at the stove, snorted. "Aren't you pleasant."

"Who the fuck is Aurora?" Connie called from upstairs.

"That's Sleeping Beauty's real name, isn't it?"

"Wasn't it Briar Rose or something?" Eren added.

"What the fuck is a _briar_?" Their bald friend hollered.

"Quit yelling before I smash your brain out your skull," came the murmured response behind a mug of coffee.

"There are different variations of the story, right?" Armin mused from the worn couch in the living room. "So her name would change, depending on the country and whatnot."

"No, her name was Briar Rose," Eren said firmly.

"Fuck off, Jaeger," Jean glared. It was nearly noon, and it was still too early to deal with his bullshit.

"Suck my dick, Kirschtein."

"I'll take a rain check."

"There's no such thing as a 'rain check'!"

"Makes more sense than Briar fucking Rose."

Connie slammed what sounded like the laundry basket on the dryer. "What the fuck is a _briar_?!"

"Your mom."

"Thank you, Mister Middle Schooler!"

The two-toned-haired male had blocked them out at that point, distracting himself by scrolling through his phone and any recent things he had missed: a text from his mom and older brother, Sasha asking about any food they could borrow, a reminder for Marco to be visiting at 12:30, a missed call and voicemail from some number he didn't recognize—

A glance at the time on his phone informed him of the fact that there was only a half hour before Marco arrived. And he hadn't told any of his fraternity brothers about it.

With a moan of despair, Jean interrupted the argument between Connie and Eren that was taking place. "Okay, house meeting: I invited Freckled Jesus to come over at noon to hang out with us."

For a moment, there was silence. Four pairs of eyes stared at him in confusion. Small footsteps, from Connie, against the stairs came from behind. The musician only took a sip of his coffee and sighed, staring at the murky drink in his hand. Caffeine really did him wonders in the morning.

"Who the hell is Freckled Jesus?" The bald male finally broke the silence.

"Marco Bodt from Pike."

"Oh."

"Isn't he the same guy you wrote letters to?" Eren asked with a snort.

Jean flinched, and nearly dropped his coffee as he glared at his friend. "Connie fucking Springer, I told you not to fucking tell them _anything—_ "

"They had nachos and quesadillas! I had no choice!"

"You haven't mentioned anything to him about your letters?" Reiner inquired, a thin eyebrow raised in question.

"Nope. Not ready for it." Connie made what sounded like chicken noises under his breath, but was silenced when he received a glare in return. "Your death is still coming for letting them know anything, don't worry."

"Are you going to tell him?" asked Bertolt, who had been doing nothing but reading this entire time at the kitchen island.

"Today, yeah."

"Well…that's good, at least."

"Mhm. So no one mention shit to him about it until I do, or else I'll crack your skull open."

"Okay, lover boy," Eren rolled his eyes.

"And I'll do it especially hard for you, Jaeger. I fucking mean it; don't say shit to him about us writing."

"Calm down, idiot, I'm not gonna do anything. I don't see what the big deal is anyway; you're a fucking asshole. Of course he's gonna stop writing you at some point!"

" _Jaeger, I will dig a hole six feet under where you stand, so help me—_ "

"If you're going to fight, do it outside," Armin pleaded.

"Yeah, Eren—here, let me help you out."

"Wha—Jean, put me _down_!"

" _Don't pull my pants up!_ "

" _Then put me down!_ "

The next half hour consisted of no preparation whatsoever. Instead, it involved wrestling and prying the duo off and away from one another before they broke something. Unfortunately, by then, there was a knock on the door, and Jean was in nothing but boxers; and he not only had reddening splotches on any visible skin—especially on his stomach and lower back—but a slightly swollen left eye when Eren had tried to shove him away by the soles of his hand.

"Shit, that's him," he grumbled, eyes quickly searching for something to cover him. Connie was still standing in front of him to hold him back, but Bertolt handed him a hoodie previously strewn on the couch.

"You need it more than I do at this point," he shrugged with a small smile.

The musician tugged it over his head, huffing when it covered up his hands, but accepted it nonetheless. "Thanks, Bert."

"Your eye is kinda red, though," Connie pointed out, arms now crossed in front of his chest.

"Gee, I wonder why." Eren scowled at that and flipped up his middle finger.

"Do you want me to get you something for it? I mean it's not exactly something you can hide, y'know?"

"Nah, I'll be fine." Another few knocks came at the door. "Coming!"

"Jean—"

"I don't wanna hear it." Jean clenched the doorknob but then shot the four a glare, giving one last warning through clenched teeth; "Not a fucking word about the letters." He opened the door and smiled when he saw Marco standing there. "Hey, Mar."

The chef's expression, however, had changed from cheery to alarm. "What happened to your eye?"

"I got in a fight with a raging bull and won."

"Bullshit!" The other called in from the house, resulting in a puzzled yet concerned look from the taller. Jean only laughed, albeit dryly.

"Welcome to Fiji, otherwise known as Phi Gamma Delta. Ignore the mess—we just woke up."

Marco only nodded as he stepped inside, cautious at first before he smiled and waved at the others. "Oh–I brought drinks! I wasn't really sure what to bring, so I got Coke and Dr. Pepper. And some tortilla chips to go with guacamole."

"Holy shit, he _is_ Freckled Jesus," Connie mumbled.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Jean said, glaring at the shorter in the process, "but thanks anyway. Who have you met so far?"

“Everyone, for the most part,” Marco shrugged. “I’ve known everyone, some way or another.”

“Out of all of us, you’re the only one who hasn’t met him,” scoffed Eren with an all-knowing smirk. “Kinda ironic, don’t you think?”

“Ironic?”

“He’s a shithead, don’t listen to him,” the two-toned-haired male glowered. The knowledge that Fiji now had involving Jean and Marco increased the chances of the Pike finding out anything from everyone else. "Take a seat, relax; we're not gonna murder you."

"But you _are_ from Pike," Reiner mused.

"Try it and see what happens. Who wants what to eat or drink?" Jean took any drink orders and started preparing them, keeping an ear open for the conversation that he hoped would go well.

Marco plopped down on the worn couch; "How did the rivalry even start?"

"Wagner tossed a dozen deviled eggs down our toilet at the beginning of sophomore year," Eren clarified. "The house smelled like shit for _months_."

"Didn't we do that to them though?" Bertolt questioned.

"No, bullshit, don't feed into the lies."

"But it's not really worth it," Marco pointed out. "I mean, we're all in a fraternity, at college, to get a higher education. Everything else is just decoration: not really necessary, but it's something to entertain us."

"Philosophical," Connie nodded thoughtfully, as if he was pondering over a major thought. "You raise a good point there, Freckled Jesus."

"You can just call me Marco. But thank you!"

Eren blew a raspberry, perched on the armrest that was closest to Armin; "As long as they call us 'Feces' and we call them 'Prick', it is worth it."

"So, you're from California, right?" Armin asked.

Jean returned with the food and drinks then, handing them out before he took the beanbag chair directly across from Marco. "I believe the correct term is 'Hippie Land'."

The freckled male rolled his eyes, but his smile gave away his serious exterior. "Yes, I'm from San Diego," he replied. "Though I figured Jean would have already told you that."

"Actually, Jean hasn't really talked about you," Reiner informed him.

Hazelnut eyes widened at that, blinking with shock. "He hasn't?"

"Well, he's the mystery type; he likes to keep things hidden from everyone." The taller blond stole a quick glance and winked at the person in question, a signal to the "save" he had made.

"I'm not a mystery," the musician scowled, taking a sip of his drink.

"Maybe a little bit."

"Reiner, there's going to be a mystery over your dead body if you don't shut the fuck up."

Despite the slight turn in their conversation, the rest of the afternoon went by without any other hindrance. Marco was friendly and contagious; his smiles and laughter brought the same from the members of Fiji. Eventually, who belonged to what frat was forgotten and they were able to enjoy themselves. Even Jean and Eren were able to avoid another argument and be pleasant. It even got to the point where the seven were on the ground, surrounding a Jenga tower that was close to falling over. For Fiji and AOPi, game night was an important factor of their lives, and it was taken more seriously than it was allowed, but enjoyable nevertheless.

Bert cautiously removed a piece lower down from the tower, and although its movements to the left caused him to freeze, he was finally able to place it on top. As soon as it was down, relieved sighs from the seven players filled the room.

"That was amazing," Eren said to the other, who scrunched his nose up at the thought, before he focused on Marco. "You have a lot to live up to."

"Right, because one day, I'm going to be just like him," he joked.

"Hey, you never know. Being taller than six foot is in these days."

The same tense silence filled the air as the freckled male scanned the tower slowly, looking for the best place to remove a block. When he found it, he started to gently push the block out. The tower shifted and tilted with each maneuver, causing more stilled breaths and frightened expressions. It was the rustling from a bag of chips, however, that brought him out of his concentrated state. The rest of the stares followed and rested on Connie, who was digging into a Tostitos scoops bag. When he finally noticed their confused, some irritated, gazes, he frowned and scoffed; "If no one else is gonna finish the guacamole, I'm gonna eat it!"

"Can you do it without rustling the bag like you're looking for a toy?" Jean sneered at him. "This is a pretty fucking important move."

"Yeah, seriously, Con, we haven't gotten this tall of a tower since Annie introduced us to pot," Reiner added.

Connie pouted and dumped a handful of chips onto his plate before he pulled the almost-empty vat of dip over to his side. "The guac is calling my name, and you assholes are just jealous."

"Jealous of what, a bowl of squashed avocados?"

"What even is an avocado?"

"A fruit," Bertolt responded.

"Yeah but what does it do?"

"It's a _fruit_ ; it doesn't do anything."

"Do you mean what you can do with them?" Armin corrected him.

"I dunno, man. Green foods are weird."

"Like broccoli," Eren scowled.

"And celery."

"I actually like celery."

"Weirdo."

"Fuck off, celery is good."

"Yeah but asparagus are useless."

"Can you eat mint leaves?"

"Can you eat a cannabis leaf?"

"Marco tried that once," Jean added, and bit his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth. For an entire week, he had been good, but it apparently wasn't enough for him. He had to reveal even more that he knew more about Marco than he was aware.

Unfortunately, the Californian, who had gotten the block out from the tower, looked up then with wide eyes and blinked owlishly. He hadn't been expecting that, of course, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he was cut off by the Jenga tower knocked over by the block he had dropped. Seven pairs of eyes fell on the remains in shock, followed by a heavy load of despair.

"Man, and we were getting so high," Eren frowned.

"That sounds like a good idea right now," Connie mused quietly.

"Jean, what did you mean when you said that?" Marco asked despite the side comments. As the other five stood and started to clean up, his eyes had locked with burning pools of gold once the other two had spoken, and a determination unlike anything he had seen was reflected back at him.

"Said what?" The musician asked, playing the role of safety that half of him resisted.

"About me and the cannabis. Did you just guess, or…"

"Yeah. It was a joke. That's it." _A joke that I shouldn't have made. But yeah. Let's go with that._ "Why, did something actually happen?"

The chef had nodded at first, but his smile returned in reassurance. "Yeah, you can say that. When I was seven, my cousins dared me to lick a mint leaf but it was actually cannabis."

A few laughs spouted from the members of Fiji. "Did you get anything from it?" Eren wondered.

"Not really; it just tasted bitter. My cousins got in trouble for it though, which is good."

"They don't usually?" Reiner asked.

"Err, well…" Marco's eyes wandered over to the kitchen, and then he stood up. "I need to go."

"Go?" Jean glanced over at whatever had caught his attention and, spotting the digital clock on the stove, frowned. "Why? Midnight's not for another six hours."

The freckled male laughed, but the sound was forced and dry. "Yeah, I know; I told the guys at Pike I wouldn't stay for long, so."

"Laaaame," Connie called out. "You should stay with us."

"We got Boggle," Reiner offered.

"And Monopoly," Eren added.

"Eren, you're the only one in a world of seven billion people who actually enjoys 'Monopoly'."

"You hear that? You hear it? Those are the shits I give."

Jean followed after Marco to the door; "You really can't stay?"

The taller shook his head with a frown. "If I could, I would, really," he said. "But I made a promise and I can't break it, so…"

"You could."

Marco scoffed; "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe so. I'll see you Monday?"

"Yeah, Monday!" The door was open, and he was halfway outside before he stepped back inside and hugged him. Jean froze in place, arms trapped to his sides, feet pinned to the ground. But he gave in soon enough, and returned the embrace despite his predicament. "I really had fun today. We need to do it again!"

"I'm up for that." His stomach burst with butterflies at the thought that this could be a regular occurrence. "As long as you promise not to beat us in Twister like you did in Yahtzee, then yeah, you can come back.

Marco laughed as they separated; "I can't make any promises, but I'll try to keep my winning streak at a minimum."

"We'll get Mikasa to play with us, and then you'll never win again."

"Aww, I'm so afraid! You terrify me, Jean. Terrifying best friend."

The phrase was pronounced in a light teasing manner, meant to be nothing but a friendly jab. The smile that accompanied it only added to the atmosphere, and reminded Jean that they were in as good a place as they could get. If he confessed to their past, it could only get better from there. Perhaps even more than friendship.

And with a wave and a goodbye, he was gone, returning three doors down, where he had been  for a year and a half without Jean even knowing.

The musician shut the door and leaned against it, eyes shut. However, not too soon after, the clearing of a throat brought him back to reality, and to see that his five roommates were looking at him expectantly. With a smirk, he crossed his arms and said; "If you want to say anything, do it now before I have to hide your body."

"I like him," Reiner shrugged with a smile.

"I don't," Connie grumbled.

"What did he do to you?!"

"Nothing! I just don't like him!"

"I bet you're jealous that Jean found a new friend and it's not you," Eren scoffed as he hopped onto the counter.

The bald male frowned. "That's bullshit, why would I—"

"But aside from the fact that you're a horse who can somehow manage between being an asshole and having friends, he's chill."

"You should invite him over again," Armin said.

"No he shouldn't!" Connie snapped. "He's a _Pike_ , you guys! Pikes are Pricks!”

“Just because he’s in a different fraternity from us doesn’t mean that we need to be rude to him,” Bertolt pointed out.

“Exactly—and I don’t think that guy, who brought us soda and dip without us asking for it, is going to be an asshole to us,” Reiner agreed.

“But it doesn’t mean that we need to be nice to him either!” The shortest of the six frowned. “Don’t you get it? He’s trying to make us think that he’s nice, but really, he’s probably talking shit about us to the Pricks. We shouldn’t be nice to him!”

“Just for the record,” Jean cut into the conversation, “if any of you are rude to him, which I don’t think you would and I hope you don’t, I’m going to–fuck!”

Before he could finish his threat, the door opened from behind the musician and caused him to stumble forward. From the doorway, Sasha peeked her head in and then opened the door, allowing the members of AOPi to enter the house.

“You know it’s not safe to stand behind doors,” she frowned.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Jean sneered.

“Why do I need to knock when I practically live here?!”

“Stop yelling, we need to talk about something important,” Eren stated as he hopped off to the counter. “Pike’s having a party tomorrow—” Before he could continue, Annie turned and started for the door. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the house,” she answered without looking back. “I really don’t give a fuck about them, and I don’t want to get involved.”

“Annie, come on, they’re having a party on a day that they know they shouldn’t,” Reiner stepped in front of her, blocking the exit. “They do this every month and they don’t get caught.”

“And it doesn’t involve me, so I’m not going to participate—”

“If the rest of us are going to do this, then you’re in it too, hon,” Ymir spoke up. “It’s not Fiji, AOPi and sometimes Annie. We’re one whole unit.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s the truth.”

Annie sighed and walked back to the semi-circle that had been formed. “I still don’t agree with it.”

“Well, we don’t agree with what they’re doing, so it’s okay,” Eren answered. “We need to come up with a way to catch them.”

“Why can’t we just tell someone about this?” Historia asked, hand partially raised in the air.

“If they’re not caught doing it, they can cover it up and make themselves innocent. Telling someone right now is only going to stop the party from happening.”

“So we’re gonna hide alcohol and drugs in their house?” Sasha assumed.

“Where are we gonna get any of that shit though?” Connie wondered with a frown.

“The alcohol will take care of itself,” Eren answered. “What we really need is marijuana.”

“And that’s so easy, because I have a cannabis garden in the basement,” Jean snorted. Sasha and Connie, eyes wide with excitement, dashed in the same direction he had said. “I was kidding!”

“Professor Zoe grows it, don’t they?” Bertolt offered. “For ‘medical purposes’.”

“You know just as well as I do that they are not using that for medical purposes,” Reiner shook his head.

“They give it to kids if they can pass their class,” Mikasa admitted. “It’s supposedly a trick so that they can tell who’s going to graduate or not.”

“Well then we can get that from them,” Eren nodded, and tossed his cell phone to Armin. “Call them and let them know Rye and Bert are gonna pick it up when it’s ready.”

“Why do Reiner and Bert have to do it?!” The shorter of the duo frowned.

The shorter gulped and shook his head; “Eren, no, I’m not calling them. What we’re doing is illegal, and I don’t know if anyone is aware of this or not, but we can go to jail if we’re found out, even if it’s in our possession. And we won’t be able to pay our fines, and when they find out it was us who did it, we’ll be labeled as potheads–”

“That’s not too bad,” Sasha added.

“For those of us like me and Annie, who actually enjoy having a clean reputation, it is.”

“Armin, we’re not going to get caught,” Eren assured him with a serious stare. We’re not going to jail. And if we do, there are already a few of us who will take the blame for it, no matter what. As a fraternity and sorority, as friends, we are going to do this, because we are just as sick and tired as you are that those bastards get away with this so easily. Telling a professor or a dean isn’t going to help us. We need to go further than that and teach them a lesson so that they never do this shit again.”

Armin hung his head and whined before he dialed the number. “I really hope you’re not wrong about this, Eren.”


	6. Truth and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a thing.  
> And also a little bit of clarification for what's been going on to those who are confused.
> 
> ***WARNING: Drug references and underage use of alcohol are in this chapter. Please proceed with caution.***
> 
> Also, the mention to a storm in Chula Vista (a city in the San Diego metro area) in 2012 is completely made up for story purposes. 
> 
> You're beautiful, did you know that?

From the exterior, Pi Kappa Alpha’s house looked as if it was any other night for the Pikes. However, the sounds coming from the interior proved that there was something else happening. College students filed into the house as much as they could, drinking and smoking and talking over music that boomed from the stereos set up in the living room. The bedrooms were often labeled as “off-limits” but students spilled into them anyway, either to make more room or to something much more explicit than kissing.

Since the rivalry frat hadn't been invited, something that both sides had done on more than one occasion, the members of Fiji and AOPi had snuck into the house from the back room that led to the kitchen. They filled a cooler with their supplies, Ziploc bags of marijuana, specifically for blunts and bowls, to avoid suspicion. Before they had left, they had divided into groups that would split up once they got to the house and hide the drug in various places around the house. However, even with their plan in action, they had to make it look as if they were there to enjoy the party. One mishap, and they could easily be blamed for everything.

“We have to make this quick,” Eren informed the group once the cooler was open, while he and Annie passed the bags out to the groups. “The less they see of us, the less we’ll be suspected.” He shot a glare at the trio standing at the counter–Jean, Sasha, and Connie–already opening beers and taking sips from them. “And no getting wasted either. We’re not here to party. We’re here to frame some Pricks.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jaeger,” the taller huffed, amber eyes narrowing at emerald. “We’ll get around to it.”

“I’m being serious. This isn’t a time to joke around and have fun.”

Jean turned and faced Eren with a serious, deadpan stare. “Look, fuckface. You go do your thing and get it done, and we’ll do our thing and get it done. Okay? You know we’re gonna do what you want, so stop freaking out like a neurotic chicken who just had his head cut off."

“We’re not waiting for you guys to do your part until the last minute. When we’re done, we’re done, and we meet back at the house, and if you don't finish up, too bad.” And with a harsh glare, the shorter walked away and into the throngs of partygoers, followed closely by Mikasa and Armin.

The musician took a swig from his beer, sighing quietly. “I fucking hate that shrimp.”

“He’s just worried about being here for too long,” Reiner smirked. “He thinks someone will see and catch us.”

“This is a college party, not a wedding reception. Nearly everyone here is getting too shitfaced to worry about it. There’s no way someone is going to remember seeing us.”

“There’s still a possibility,” Annie said in her regular neutral tone. “That’s what’s making him so paranoid.“ She grabbed the rest of her share. "Try not to get sidetracked with the alcohol." The short blonde walked in the opposite direction Eren had gone in. Reiner and Bertolt went off with her, the tallest of the three looking back with a guilty shrug and apologetic expression.

“How lame is it that we can't even take a few hits off one of these babies?” Ymir pouted. "I would have loved to be high while doing this. Maybe fuck some shit up around the house and have a better excuse."

“Aren't you in pre-law?” Jean raised an eyebrow at her disappointment.

“Yeah, what's your point?"

He glanced over at Historia, who shook her head at her girlfriend. "Good luck with that one. I'd suggest keeping her on a leash but she'd probably break it."

"You have no idea," the shortest sighed before pulling the taller with her. “Try not to drink too much.”

“No promises,” Connie called after her before he chugged one of the freshly opened beers. “Sash, wanna spread the weed around?”

The brunette looked around quickly, as if searching for someone, before she whispered; “Um, I was actually wondering if we could take a few hits off of one before we do?”

“And have Eren shove it up our asses?” Jean eyed her with disbelief. “You’re crazy if you think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, what’s the point of having it if we’re not even gonna smoke it?!”

“To frame Prick.”

“Yeah, but when have _you_ listened to what _Eren_ said?” The shortest of the trio pointed out, opening the Ziploc bag. Before he could pull out one of the rolled-up joints, the musician ripped the plastic out of his hand. “Hey!”

“Look, that shithead may piss me off, but I’d rather get him angry on my own terms than have him pissed that I didn’t do what he wanted.”

“You’re such a party pooper,” Sasha scowled.

Jean rolled his eyes and headed into the throngs of college students. “At least this party was already dead before it started.”

It took little time to place the rolled-up paper around their designated area, in places that weren’t too obvious but would definitely catch one eager yet observant pair of eyes. The living room, as far as he was aware, was the easiest place to hide and spread the marijuana. It was wall to wall with students, and barely had any pockets of space. Moving around was definitely an issue, but he dealt with it and did his best.

Jean had emptied the bag save for one, and he contemplated lighting it and taking the role of hypocrisy to what had been said to Connie and Sasha. Before he could do much else, however, he was stopped by the faint detection of familiar laughter, someone who was having a good time with friends. After a week of contemplation and time well spent, he knew who owned the joyful noise. His eyes immediately scanned the crowd of students, hope bursting in his chest that the task of looking for the freckled male would be an easy one. Marco seemed so social and friendly whenever they were together. His smiles always went past his ears, and he was often greeting or waving to passersby. The musician wasn't jealous–just amazed at how many were familiar with kind, smiley Marco Bodt.

There. On the couch, with Daz and another student he didn't recognize, was the Californian, his eyes filled with laughter and his grin from ear to ear. It seemed so fitting to see him there, lying back on a slant with one leg atop the other, one hand resting against his knee and the other grasped around a water bottle. He moved almost elegantly, whether he was scratching his nose or resting his elbow on the back of the sofa, or even smiling. Every movement was effortless and graceful, and flawless–especially when dark chocolate caught an amber gaze and held it briefly before turning back to his friends. There was the slightest hint of a bashful smile on his face, but Jean wasn't too sure. All he knew was that the other two were moving in time with his feet, and he was soon sitting beside Marco with a silent plop.

The freckled chef hadn't said a word; he had acknowledged the other with a blink and a gaze, but he had leaned forward to take a pretzel stick from the bowl on the table. Jean sipped nervously at his beer, already feeling and seeing the direct stares Sasha and Connie were able to send him. It was a side effect for having them as friends; he expected their spying.

"So," Marco's voice broke the silence between them. Jean was able to hear him clearly, even with the background noises from the party. There was a slight sense of happiness coming from the dark-haired male that was unlike his normal vibe.

"So," the musician nodded, intently focused on the other. He wasn't giving up anytime soon. Their locked eyes had given no clue as to what he was going to say, and he didn't expect them to show him anytime soon.

Marco gave a small chuckle and placed his water bottle on the table. "I realized I never answered your question."

The two-toned-haired male raised an eyebrow at that, confused by the statement. "Question?"

"That faces can melt from the California heat."

For a moment, Jean was silent as he pondered over this in his head. He barely remembered how they had ended their last conversation before the goodbye's yesterday. They had joked about games and talked about coming over in the future–after his almost reveal of another fact about Marco—and that was when it hit him. The freckled male was not referring to their previous conversations. He meant the ones from letters past, a majority of their childhood, from games to secrets to moments of panic. Every memory that was recalled was fresh and amazing and cherished after so many years. Marco knew who he was and of their past—and Jean had barely even said anything yet.

He was finally able to sputter out a bewildered "What?!" from his shocked state, his eyes wide. There was no way he could know so soon, or could have figured it out already. It was impossible. "How… What are you…"

Marco grinned as he leaned his chin atop the crook of his elbow. It wasn't until Jean had stopped gawking and attempting to speak, and had resigned to staring at his shoes instead. "I may not have pronounced your name correctly—which I really do feel sorry about—but I've known how to spell it for years now. That and I overheard some of your friends talking about it when I went to Michelangelo's on Thursday. You were right: they really don't know how to talk softly."

Jean puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled, both hands dragging through his hair as tried to take this in. "So… you know who I am. And…what we had… Shit, Marco, I was gonna tell you about it yesterday, but we got interrupted and a whole lot of other shit happened—"

"That's okay." The smile that appeared on his face was sweet and kind, almost angelic. "I was going to find out anyway."

"But I wanted to tell you. I didn't want it to be from anyone else because…" _I've had a crush on you since sophomore year of high school. I need to know why you never wrote back. I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever met and I don't know how to show you._

Once again, the chef waited for a continuation. Jean only stared at him with a mixture of emotions on his face. When the statement wasn't continued, Marco leaned forward and took his hands in his, squeezing them and smiling faintly. "I want you to listen to me without getting mad, alright?" The musician nodded, and gulped anxiously. "I'm not angry at you for not telling me yet, because I know you had a good enough reason to hold back. I care—I cared…I don't know what to say now, just…God, Jean… I think there are more important things than keeping that a secret that need to be addressed."

"Agreed," he firmly nodded. "I…wanna know a lot of things as well."

"I bet." He laughed quietly, though it lacked the light tone and amusement it carried before. "Ah, but…I don't really know where to start."

"Why did you come here?" The question was abrupt, demanding; the dark-haired student was clearly taken aback by it. Jean was going in deeper than he already was. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

A bittersweet smile appeared on Marco's face, cheeks tinted red, and he looked the opposite way. "It was supposed to be a surprise. I never told you what college I got into because it was this one, and I wanted to meet up with you in person for the first time. I was going to get a phone, get your number, find you, but…things happen."

"Define ‘things’.”

"You know how in 'Cinderella', when her stepmother stops her from getting to the prince with the glass slipper?"

"Vaguely, but yeah."

"Think of that, but Cinderella is a college student from California, and it's actually his mom using the cell phone he bought for himself."

Jean let out a short puff of air. "Wow. That's a bummer."

"Yep. And I haven't had the chance to get a new one either."

"You tried to take it back from her, though, right?"

Marco scoffed and gave him an incredulous stare. "This is my mom we're talking about. Even when I tried to say that it was mine, she wouldn't give it back."

"That sucks."

"Yeah…"

Jean cleared his throat, wanting to avoid a period of awkward silences. "So, ah, you basically came here for me."

Marco nodded, his smile one of relief from the subject change. "For you. Yeah. I mean, it just so happened that their business school is pretty good and they gave me a full ride, so it was the best choice either way."

"Is that why you…" The question got caught in his throat, and he found himself clearing it once again. Although he was bursting at the thought of Marco doing what he had done for him, he still couldn't stomach the thought of the end of their letters. "Is that why you never wrote back?"

"…wait, what?" The Californian was taken aback by the statement, eyebrows furrowed.

"A week before graduation. You never replied to my letter." He was going now; the anger and sadness that had brewed since June two years ago was back. "You know how I feel about that shit and yet you did it anyway. You ditched me."

"Jean, I—"

"I'm not done," he snapped, his head turning harshly to glower at the freckled student. "I waited for it—it never took more than a week to get here, but I never got a thing. I couldn't call, I couldn't drop by, I couldn't do anything but wait for you to write back and you never did! I looked through past letters to see if there was something I had done wrong, but for once it wasn't me. You never wrote me back, and you didn't even tell me that you were going to stop writing!"

"I never got anything from _you_!" Marco exclaimed. There was also fury and sorrow on his face, though it was accompanied by a hurt and betrayal that shook Jean to his core. "T-there was no letter from you, Jean. No…warning, no explanation. Just a hypocritical move that left me looking like an idiot! Everyone told me that you gave up on me, th-that you didn't need me anymore. Everyone said that I had better things to do than to lie around, waiting for an asshole's response—especially because I had no place to call home!"

"No place to... What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"D-don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!"

"I'm not acting like anything!"

The duo stared down one another, brown to gold, chocolate to amber. They had moved closer as they had yelled, Jean realized, the tips of their noses practically touching. How they had gotten to this point, or were able to hear one another over the party, he wasn't sure.

"In 2012, a storm hit Chula Vista and flooded half of the area," Marco said through gritted teeth. "We had to evacuate from our apartment, and we've been living in Little Italy with Nonna ever since. I lost everything, and I was never able to call any place 'home'. It was always 'Marco, I'm still looking for a place' or 'One more week, Marco' because my mom would rather give me false hope than tell me the truth. I was leaving for college soon anyways, so it didn't matter. She could live wherever she wanted now and I couldn't do a thing about it. So whatever letter you supposedly sent to me, I never got, because there was no address to give it to."

"But you didn't bother to tell me this," the musician snorted.

"I didn't have time to, Jean! I had to get ready to come here, and I had to buy a lot of new things and supplies because everything was _gone_. The home I grew up in was now flooded underwater, and I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a tin can that kept every single one of your letters, if you'll be happy to know. I was just as much of a nobody as I was before. And sometimes, life hits you hard in the face and nearly throws you off course. But you just have to keep on going."

Jean was silent, initially. He let the words settle, let Marco's expression crumble into heartbreak and sadness. Words were lost in his mouth and his head. Even if he could form them, he was sure they would be a jumbled mess. He was trying to take everything in, trying to make sense of it through his frustration, but he couldn't. A few tears had escaped past freckled cheeks, but the back of a hand with a million constellations against the knuckles wiped them immediately. Another hand, however, worn from plunking piano keys and strumming guitar strings, brushed away the tracks with a swipe of a thumb. Marco stiffened before relaxing, shutting his eyes as his own hand closed around the Virginian.

"I'm sorry," Jean whispered in a low voice. "I'm so sorry, Marco…"

Almost instantly, the dark-haired male shook his head. "There was nothing you could have done. I'm sorry I didn't write when I should have… I'm sorry for yelling at you, and…"

"I was yelling too. I didn't mean to snap at you either. I'm just… I _was_ angry. At everything. For everything. I thought I had lost the first best friend that…that I loved more than I could ever love someone."

"I would never…" Marco sighed and shook his head. "I don't want to think about it. Us thinking those things? It's never going to happen again, I'm sure of it. Besides," a small smile made its way to his lips, "best friends are forever."

"Got that right." The two-toned-haired male returned the gesture with genuinity. His hand still hadn't left his cheek. Neither had Marco's left from holding his. "So, you, ah…" Jean couldn't help but let a bigger smile take over, "you kept my letters?"

A hum and a grin was his response. "Every single one. I keep them in one of those tin cookie boxes that grandmas always have."

"Huh…" I'm not the only one then. It was never just Jean, or just Marco. It was both of them, together, both dedicated and wishing and hoping and waiting and suffering. They didn't need to ask to know if their friendship of now thirteen years was still going to continue or not. They knew that it would.

"…did you keep mine?"

"Always. They're the only things I never lost."

Marco chuckled at that, his eyes once again lit up with life and happiness. He still remained quiet, though not enough to be drowned out by the party when he spoke. "I'm glad that you didn't lose them. And that you kept them."

"So am I."

The next moment was a blur. Their stares had been locked yet soft, and their hands were firm and gentle against the other's. It was unclear how much time had passed before they met in a soft kiss, simple and chaste, as if it was a test-run. They broke apart for a brief moment, shifting into more comfortable and suitable positions, though quickly resumed their locked position.

For years, Jean had flipped between crushing on him and uncertainty of his sexuality. Eighth grade had hit him with it hard, and continued with it for two more years. He wouldn't be comfortable with who he was until he was halfway through his sophomore year, when he came to terms with the fact that he had feelings for his best friend in San Diego. He was kind and sweet and helped his friends to the best of his ability. Even if they hadn’t met at that point and only knew each other from letters, when he realized his feelings, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Marco Bodt was flawless, and Jean fell for him hard.

The musician was hungry, fast, begging, both hands now caressing either side of his friend's face as confidence triumphed inside him. Marco responded to the fierce kiss with an equal amount of passion and hunger. Jean wanted this more than he realized; he had been wanting to do this for years. The chef’s arms wrapped around his neck, and a hand made its way into his hair. When he opened his mouth and invited him to the taste of pretzel sticks against his own lingering reminder of beer, the sensation only increased. It was indescribable, yet there were a thousand words to use to depict this moment. His mind whirled, his heartbeat drumming in his ears as they fell back against the sofa. Jean shifted one arm to rest beside Marco's head to dip into dark tresses, tugging and dragging through the dark locks. The other wrapped around his waist and against the small of his back. He pushed upwards and connected their bodies, eliciting a small gasp from Marco and a tightened grip around his neck.

When they became desperate for air, they separated slowly, pressing their lips against his in small pecks before finally pulling apart. Panting, their foreheads rested against one another, their eyes shut. Jean simply listened to who was beneath him, who had his legs wound tightly around his hips, who was whispering his name and words he barely understood, words that were not something he should miss. “What?”

The chef sat up a bit, his elbows keeping him up as sadness swept over his features. He nodded to the kitchen; “Connie and Sasha are calling your name.”

Sure enough, the duo was waving and jumping and pointing towards the back door. Their job was done here; it was time to get out before they were caught. “I need to leave.” Jean gazed at the dark-haired male, and his heart panged with guilt. There was so much to talk about, so much to find out and discover. They had resolved the issue of the letters but had barely started anything, and he wanted more.

Marco hummed and nodded before he leaned over and tenderly kissed the light-haired male. “I don’t mind,” he smiled reassuringly. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“When? Breakfast? Because I’m not waiting until psych. Fuck that shit.”

With a laugh, the taller nudged Jean up off of the couch. “Breakfast sounds good.”

 _I'd rather stay with you._ “Breakfast it is.”

“Good!” He nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

x-x-x

“What was that, Jean?! Are you two _dating_ now?!”

“Leave me alone.”

“But that—you—whoooa!”

“You kissed a complete stranger!”

“He’s not a stranger; I’ve known him for thirteen years, Connie.”

“Writing letters doesn’t count.”

As soon as they were out of the house, Jean was bombarded by the dynamic duo that was Sasha and Connie, she excited and eager for more and he annoyed and upset. He knew they both meant well, but it was strange to see the bald male scowling.

“If you’re jealous of him—”

“I’m not jealous!

The brunette, giggling, poked Connie’s cheek. “I think you are~ Jean found a new friend and is paying more attention to him than he is to you!”

“Shut up, Sasha! That’s not true!”

“Then why are grumpy?” Jean asked.

“…I stubbed my toe.”

“With closed-toed shoes?”

“Yeah. Don’t defy the shoes.”

“I’m happy for you!” Sasha grinned. “You wrote for a long time, and then you didn’t talk for a long time, but now you’re reunited, and it feels so good–”

“Please leave."

With a small shrug and a wink, she headed across the street to her sorority. "At least you both know now!"

Jean rolled his eyes with a scoff, and stopped Connie before they walked into their house. "Con, I'm serious. If you have a problem with Marco—"

"I don't have a problem with Marco," he scowled. "Why do you keep on thinking that I do?"

"Because you're pouting like an eight-year-old and it's starting to piss me off."

"I'm _fine_ , Jean. Hop off."

He knew Connie better than anyone else, minus Sasha, and Jean could tell that he was lying. But, instead of calling him out on it, he let him do it anyway. He didn't have the energy nor the time to argue with him.

The duo walked into the house to an argument between Eren and Reiner, something that he could only partially understand. Armin and Bertolt were shifting through Netflix, supported by the gaming console and displayed on the television. On the table sat six beers, only two unopened, and a basket of chips. Various cups of what looked like melted cheese had accompanied the chips on the side.

"Hey horseface, what movie do you wanna watch?" Eren finally broke away from his argument. Whatever anger had been fostered from his conversation with Reiner still lingered in his eyes unintentionally.

"I don't care," he answered with a confused glance, one eyebrow arched. "Choose whatever."

"This is for you, idiot."

"Eren, be polite," Armin frowned before facing Jean. "We heard what happened with you and Marco."

"How…?"

"Connie live-texted it to us," Bertolt answered. "He blew up our phones while we were away."

The shortest of the six had started to head for the stairs, but Jean grabbed him by the back of the collar and tugged him back. "You fucking piece of shit!"

"Reiner, 'The Goonies' isn't on Netflix streaming."

"I told you!" Eren exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the tall blond's chest.

"Neither is 'Jurassic Park'."

Reiner, in return, smirked in triumph. "Who told who what now?"

"Let's watch 'The Breakfast Club'," Connie, breaking out of Jean's hold, took the controller and searched for it. "I know it's on here."

"You don't have to do this, you know," the musician pointed out.

"Yeah, but we want to," Reiner shrugged.

"I was forced to," Eren added.

"Just think of it as a coming out support group thing, only you already came out and the nachos are better this time."

"And we have Netflix."

"And we have Netflix. But no films directed by Spielberg."

"Well, 'E.T.', but someone's a big baby and won't watch it."

"I'm sorry that aliens are freaky as shit."

"It's fucking fiction, Rye! Have you ever met an alien before?"

"Yeah, his name is Eren Jaeger—"

"Oh fuck you, man!"

Jean had made himself comfortable on the couch before another fight started. His mind was still whirling with the reminders of Marco's kiss on his lips and his hands, coarse and firm, dragging through his hair. He could still feel the soft, dark tresses running in between his fingers and the breaths they shared when they broke apart for air. Yet he also remembered how furious he had been with the Californian, quickly followed by relief that some of their unanswered questions had been answered. Jean no longer had to keep their history a secret, but he knew there was more to discover. Would they become a couple after that kiss? Was Marco interested in having a romantic relationship with him? Or any relationship at all, for that matter. It was starting to make Jean's head throb, and he needed some sort of distraction for now.

Connie transferred the food and beers over to the table, a large blanket over his shoulder, and Bertolt and Armin separated Reiner and Eren before their argument turned physical. Once the six were seated on their rundown couch, the blanket was thrown over their legs and the movie started. Although he didn't, and wouldn't, say it out loud, Jean was thankful that they had decided on this for him.


	7. Conversation and Retaliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that when Jean and Marco kissed last chapter, it was to the tune of "Light My Fire" by The Doors. Good song, 11/10 would recommend you listen to it.
> 
> You guys are awesome by the way. Like seriously. Thank you for reading this lame story and finding entertainment (?) in these words.
> 
> Erwin Smith as a Dean though. Someone get a bucket of ice, because this man is on fire.
> 
> You are excellent at being you

Marco's tray clattering against the table had caused Jean to look up from his food. If it had been anyone else, Jean would have denied them right away without a second glance. However, the sheepish smile and tint of an embarrassed scarlet to a freckled face brought a small pang of pity and something else he couldn't quite place. The members of Fiji and AOPi were still getting breakfast; he was saving their spot since he was the least prepared for friendly conversation so "early" in the morning—and on Monday's, especially.

For Marco Bodt, however, he would always make an exception.

"Sorry," the chef chuckled anxiously, sitting down across from him. "I was trying to set it down lightly. I didn't mean to bother you."

"No problem," Jean insisted, biting into his toast. "It didn't bother me."

He nodded firmly. "Good!" Hazelnut eyes glanced from each end of the table. "Err, do you usually eat breakfast at a table like this? By yourself? And a piece of toast that's apparently really crispy?"

"Nah, everyone else is still getting their food."

"Oh—should I move then?" The taller started to stand, but was stopped as soon as he did.

"No, Mar, it's cool. There are eleven of us; there's enough room."

"Oh…okay." Marco sat back down, his smile returning. "That's good."

Jean couldn't help but return the gesture. After binge-watching movies until two in the morning, and being the only one awake to watch them, he had barely managed to get two hours of sleep. A majority of it, however, was due to the events of last night keeping him up and thinking without rest. Thoughts from what they did to what they said to where they could go ran circles in his head constantly, and they continued on even when he woke up. He couldn't catch a break, and he was positive he wouldn't receive one for a while.

"So, about last night. I think we can both agree that we need to talk about things and start to move on."

At those words, Jean blanched. He never liked the sound of those words put together in a sentence. It meant that something was wrong, that he had done something bad, and these were their repercussions.

"I-I didn't mean it like that!" Marco shook his head with a frown, eyes welled with a nervous glint. "I really like what happened…a lot. And…I realized that there's a lot we don't know about each other, even if we were writing for ten years. Maybe because we were different people on paper? I mean, I know I tried not to act differently on paper, at least—n-not to say that you didn’t, because I don’t believe that, I was just saying, and… I don’t know what I'm saying anymore, eheh."

Jean couldn't resist a quiet laugh at the taller male's small speech. He had never dealt with this side of Marco before; there had been times where he had been mad, sad, heartbroken, confused—the list could go on. Anxious was not one of them. He either pushed it away or he never mentioned it, and, in return, the Virginian didn't press for information. If he wasn't told, he wasn't going to get worked up over it unless it proved to be a big concern.

Nevertheless, they were under different circumstances now. They were face-to-face, and they were older. They could speak to one another without having to wait a week for a reply. The emotions that they had to express through words were now seen upfront, and it was startling for Jean. Connie had once said that he had never been good at holding back how he truly felt, but this was something else. This was someone who had known how he felt about everything and everyone since third grade. And it came from all over too, from the “dark” secrets involving the trouble he had caused to the butterflies he felt when he looked at someone who caught his attention.

“I think what I’m trying to say is…I want to be friends with you,” the chef smiled. “I mean, I've always considered you my best friend. But we haven't met in person until now, and it's a little weird, but I think we can get used it. And I… I hope that we can be more than friends, because last night was…wow.”

The thought of dating Marco sounded both appealing and frightening. On one hand, the two-toned-haired male had always dreamed of being able to say that he was dating the freckled male. But on the other, his personality and reputation as "a horse-faced asshole" didn't call for it at all. And that was something he didn't want to show him.

For right now, however, he would have to cross that bridge when he got to it.

“‘Friends’ sounds good for right now," Jean agreed, pausing momentarily before nodding. “I like it.”

Marco sighed, and the tension in his body dissipated as he slumped his shoulders and leaned backwards. “Good! I was actually afraid you weren’t going to like it.”

The musician quirked an eyebrow at that. “What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know, I mean…I know you’re into guys–from what  I remember, at least–but I…wasn't sure if you felt that way about me. Unless you just kiss people on a daily basis.”

Jean chuckled at that, and took a sip of coffee before he spoke. “If I kiss anyone, it’s for a damn good reason.”

“Well, good!” A wide beam appeared on the Californian’s face this time. “Then I guess mine was pretty important, huh?”

Before he could even think of an answer, Ymir and Historia sat down beside the freckled male, the taller of the duo dropping her arm on his shoulder. “Hey, Frecks,” she grinned. “Haven't seen you in a while!"

Marco shot a confused look at Jean before he spoke up. "Uhh, yeah, I guess not."

The taller female suddenly frowned and got closer to him. “You're not trying to avoid me, are you?”

"What?! No! I-I wasn't trying that at all!"

"I'm just playing with ya, Coco! Take a breather!" She patted his back before she sat down and shot a smirk at the musician. “Reiner was right—your boyfriend’s adorable.”

“We’re not dating,” the two males stated in unison, sharing a confused glance when they did.

“Haha! You even talk together!” Ymir nudged the blonde beside her. “We should start doing that!”

Historia glanced up from her meal to her girlfriend to the blushing boys beside them. “Do what?”

“The talking in unison thing!”

The shorter, with a confused look on her face, hummed. “I don’t think you can plan that, though.”

“Oh come _on_ , Tori! Don’t be such a stick in the mud; have fun once in a while!"

"What does that have to do with—"

"Rye Bread! You know Historia well! Do you think she needs to let loose and have fun?"

Reiner, with Bertolt and Annie at his side, shrugged as he sat down beside Jean. "I think you should let her do what she wants and keep everyone else out of it," he replied.

Ymir pouted, scowling at her friend before she took a bite of her food. "You're boring."

The tall blond rolled his eyes, and then smiled at the Californian. "Hey Marco; good to see you here with us."

Marco grinned; "Good to see y—" He was stopped when an arm wrapped around his neck and nearly choked him.

“Polka Dots! I didn’t know you were eating breakfast with us today!” Sasha practically shouted, swaying back and forth. From beside her, Connie scowled and sat down next to the spot where Sasha had placed her own food. When he looked up at the musician, the irritation and jealousy was evident on his face.

“I'm glad to be here.” The dark-haired male made an attempt to move her arm away from his neck. "But you're kinda choking me right now, so it might be better if you move away a little bit please?"

The brunette giggled as she plopped down in her seat, and, for the first time, didn’t dig into her food right away. “Are you here to talk to Jean about what you two did for like, an hour last night?"

“It was literally only five minutes,” Connie stated past his cup of orange juice, a heap of bitterness in his tone.

Marco only laughed, a blush lighting up his face; "It wasn't that long, was it?"

"Trust me—it was."

Sasha, however, huffed and turned to the bald male. “Stop being so bitter, Con,” she murmured. “You’re acting like it’s a crime to be nice.”

“I wouldn’t have to act like it’s a crime if you stopped flirting!”

“I’m not flirting with him! I’m just being a nice person!”

“Uh-huh, and I was born yesterday!”

“Well, you’re _acting_ like you are!”

“If you two are going to fight, at least do it where we don’t have to hear your bickering,” Annie interrupted the duo. “It’s Monday morning, and we all have class in less than an hour, and I don’t think any of us here want to hear you two arguing like a married couple.”

“We don’t sound like a married couple!"

"Yeah! Who even asked you, Queen of…Big…Noses?"

“Can you two at least fight somewhere else? Or talk about whatever problem you have later?” Reiner requested.

Both scowled and glared into their meals, shooting each other agitated glares. The freckled male, his lips pressed tight together, stifled a laugh as he glanced up from the two to look at Jean. “Interesting breakfast."

“For the most part,” the musician shrugged with a smirk. "It usually involves a whole lot more chaos than this, with Eren being a piece of shit and all–"

"And then you have hate sex," Ymir interjected casually. "Because why not, when you hate each other's guts?"

Marco's eyes widened at that, though with curiosity than anything else. Jean, on the other hand, kicked her shin under the table and glowered harshly at her. Although his relationship with Eren as a teenager was filled with sexual escapades that were usually the result of drugs or alcohol, no one but the two involved knew what they had done. For Ymir to joke about it was even worse, as she didn't know that it was true and was actually revealing something that Marco was already aware of.

The freckled female jumped at the kick, frowning and sending a glare of her own to Jean. "Someone gargled vinegar this morning."

"Yeah, speak for yourself," he murmured. "If Eren and I were having hate sex, I'm pretty sure someone would know by now."

"You never know what goes on behind closed doors," Reiner offered. "I mean, you two could be sneaking upstairs and doing it in a closet, for all we know."

 _Well. You're not entirely wrong._ "Says the guy who can't keep his dick away from his boyfriend for ten minutes?"

Bertolt squeaked past his glass of orange juice, sputtering to speak. The blond male simply huffed; "That's a rude assumption."

"Let's not talk about what Reiner and I do when no one's looking," the tallest managed to speak up, eyes wide and face a bright red.

"That sounds like you two do something inappropriate whenever someone isn't looking at you," Annie pointed out.

"It's not like that!"

"But there's nothing to be ashamed about," Marco shrugged. "You two just like to love each other in that particular way, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to be broadcast to the rest of the world."

"Technically, that's your own fault," said Connie, "since you're dating a guy who literally is Pride Day as a person."

"You couldn't just say personified?" Reiner snorted.

"I'm a communications major, not an English one. That's for you guys."

"No one here is—"

Before he could finish, Eren appeared from behind, and leaned over Marco to snap at the two tallest males. "When you saw Hanji Saturday night, was anyone else there with them?"

Reiner and Bertolt shared a confused glance before staring at the shorter. "We don't know," the blond responded. "Hanji opened the door and gave us the box, and that was it. We didn't hear or see anyone else."

"Why do you want to know?" Bertolt wondered.

Eren's face paled, and he grunted out quietly; "Dean Smith wants all students in Greek Life in the gym as soon as possible."

x-x-x

Erwin Smith was the dean of student affairs at Stohess University, respected by all and one of the best deans the school had seen since its founding. The students were always his top priority, and he proved that by supporting their causes and even appearing at student-hosted events. He was young, and tried his best to connect with them, even if he went through embarrassing stages. The part he played was definitely one of many things that made Stohess so successful. However, whenever there was a crisis involving the students at his school, a meeting with the suspects was held, usually in the gymnasium, since it was capable of fitting that many people.

While they had walked to their destination, Eren–now joined by Armin and Mikasa–had briefly explained the situation. They had skipped breakfast to go to Professor Levi's and let him know about the party. Yet somehow, unbeknownst to any of them, the word had already gotten out about the situation to the professors and deans–and even Chancellor Pixis that past Saturday. The party hadn't even started and the higher-ups of the school already knew what was going on. The only issue was that during that time, information had gotten messed up and it was unclear which fraternity was responsible.

"Something happened from point A to point B," Eren remarked. "Either Zoe told someone, which I doubt they did, or someone saw us Saturday night."

"That's impossible," Reiner shook his head. "It was too dark for anyone to see us and we didn't talk the entire way. Bert and I weren't being careless."

"Maybe someone actually told someone, but didn't tell who it was," Historia proposed. "That's possible too, right?"

"Yeah, but why wouldn't they say anything?"

"They don't want to rat out their friends?"

"Either way, we're about to find out," Jean grumbled. He only hoped that, when given the opportunity, Pike confessed to hosting the party.

The gymnasium was divided into two floors of seating surrounding the shining court in the center but only used the first level and two open sections for seating. The group of eleven (Marco had gone to sit with his fraternity) was able to find seating relatively close to each other. Dean Smith was standing in the middle of the court and fiddling with the microphone. When it finally worked and his voice was carried around the gymnasium, he nodded and faced the students.

"Good morning, Greek life," the dean said with a smile. "I apologize for disrupting you from your Monday routine. I want to make this as quick as possible, and have you on your way to your classes." The group of students quieted down completely, and Erwin began.

"I want to begin this meeting by referring to a few rules that our school has adapted when we brought Greek life here upon your requests during most of your freshman years. As you all may know, there are two social policies that we all follow constantly. One is that student-hosted parties–meaning parties with students, for students, by students–are not to be held on school nights. There are exceptions if a professor is present or has planned it. To put it simply: if you want to have a party, Fridays and Saturdays are the days. Number two, absolutely no drugs of any kind are to be present on campus under any circumstances, which includes alcohol regardless of the age limit.

"Unfortunately, these two policies have been broken, as they have been for quite some time. One of our own fraternities has been hosting parties on Sundays for the past few weeks. At these parties, there have been the presence and use of alcohol and drugs." A catcall came from the audience, followed by a collection of laughter. Even Dean Smith cracked a smile at the outburst. "Yes, I'm sure most of you were there. But back onto the matter: we do not know who has done or started this, which explains why I have called you all here. I would appreciate it if the student, or students, responsible for this incident came forward. I  understand you enjoy having a good time, but you must follow the rules if you want to continue having these privileges. And I don't want to cut off student activities for the rest of the year because of this.

"I would like you all to close your eyes.” A brief pause, most likely to wait for instructions to be followed. “I figured it would be easier on the guilty party if I was the only one who saw that they are to blame. Now, if you were the host of the party on Sunday and allowed drugs and alcohol illegally in your house, please raise your hand and come forward.”

When Erwin paused, most likely to allow whoever was at fault to come clean, Jean realized that regardless of what happened, Fiji, AOPi, and Marco were at risk for some sort of suspension. If anyone from Pike spoke up and took the blame, bringing their fraternity with them, Marco would go along with them by association. However, the addition of marijuana was now added into problem, and there was no possibility whatsoever that all of Fiji and AOPi, if they came clean, would avoid the repercussions.

"I will not hesitate to cancel those activities. Homecoming, Halloween, spring race, frat battles. Those don't have to happen. We can let this be the reason for the end of student activities."

Even with the threat, no one stood or made any attempt to confess to the trouble caused. The more time that passed, the more Jean grew irritated. Pike should be taking responsibility for what they did. Dean Smith had even made it to where they would be more comfortable. Was no one going to admit even then?

The two-toned-haired male didn't even know he had raised his hand until he opened his eyes, out of curiosity. He was the only one who had shown some responsibility and took blame for the actions of those who didn’t have the ability to admit what they had done wrong. Dean Smith nodded at the sight, and, after another brief pause, announced the dismissal. He gave no clues of anyone admitting or not, and the worried chatter amongst the other students was evident of that.

Erwin walked up the stairs that led to the row Jean was still seated in, and sat down across the aisle. "How are you so far, Mister Kirschtein?" He began, casual and friendly.

"I’m…good, I guess,” the musician answered with a shrug. He wasn’t sure where this was going, and he didn’t like the turn it had taken. “It’s Monday.”

“It is. There never really has been a good Monday, has there? Especially when something goes wrong so early in the morning.”

“Yeah… Dean Smith, about the party yesterday… How much do you know?”

The older blond hummed and paused, followed by a shrug. “Hard to tell. I know the real story, for one; Eren Jaeger talked to Professor Levi earlier this morning. We'll deal with Pi Kappa Alpha as soon as possible. But I also know that you aren’t the only one responsible for hiding drugs in a rival fraternity’s house in order to frame them. Which I find strange: you knew what they were doing, and you know it’s wrong, but instead of ending it when you found out, you only added to the issue.”

“It’s my responsibility. The others don’t have anything to do with it." _Jean, stop. You’re only digging yourself further down._

He raised a thick eyebrow, his eyes not once leaving Jean’s. “You don’t have to protect your friends.”

“If Pike had confessed, it’d be different. But Eren and I are the only ones who said anything. Fiji and AOPi don’t deserve to get the blame if the fraternity responsible can’t say they did it.”

The musician wasn’t sure what he was saying at that point, but whatever it was, it was enough for Erwin, who sighed and leaned back in his seat. “You’re good to your friends, Mister Kirschtein. They’re lucky to know you.”

 _I’m really not. I’m not a good person, Smith. I’m terrible._ “Thank you.”

A smile raised on his face, Erwin nodding in return. “Eren and Levi have already had their conversation about consequences. For you, since you are one of many in this issue, I won’t give you a difficult time. Therefore, I’ll prohibit you from participating during Friday and Saturday’s Homecoming events.

The two-toned-haired male, with a grimace, nodded to confirm that, though inside, he was cringing. Homecoming was popular among Greek life at Stohess University, especially at the football game. Fraternities and sororities represented their respective houses throughout the week, and Friday was the day of the pep rally, followed by the bracket tournament of competitions involving Greek life. Although Jean hadn't participated last year due to the flu, he still wanted to compete and experience it first-hand, something he was now unable to do. “I understand, sir.”

Their meeting ended with a handshake and Erwin reassuring the fact that the situation would be taken care of. Jean headed for the exit, and was barely outside of the gymnasium when he was called back.

“Jean!” Marco appeared out of the corner of his eye, running up to him. The musician, shocked to see his friend, stopped and waited for him to catch up.

“What are you doing here?” He asked once the freckled male was closer.

“I saw that you didn’t come back out with everyone else, so I waited for you. I wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

The shorter of the two scoffed at that, shaking his bowed head, and then let out a slow exhale. “You’re something else, Marco Bodt.” Leaning against the door, he fixed his gaze back on the chef. “I took the blame for yesterday. And now, I can’t participate on Friday or Saturday of Homecoming.”

Marco frowned at that, his eyebrows furrowed together in sadness. Jean decided then that he never wanted to see that expression, especially when he caused it. “Oh no; I’m sorry, Jean.”

“I’ll survive. I missed the first one because I got the flu, so it’s not a big deal. Fiji still won, regardless.” And I wasn’t even a part of their brotherhood then. The musician opened the door, holding it open for the taller. “Besides, we have more important things to worry about.”

Marco stepped out with cheery thanks, and the duo started to walk towards the main campus. “Like what?”

“We’re both late for class—and you did it for me.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is college, not high school. They’ll rip off an arm, a leg, and your genitals if you’re late.”

The chef laughed quietly in response; “No they won’t.”

“Levi will.”

“I don’t have Levi right now.”

“Doesn’t matter.” When they came to a split in the road, Jean going one way and Marco to another, they both stopped. The dark-haired male smiled and began to speak, but the musician beat him to it. “Why did you wait for me?”

The Californian blinked in shock at the statement. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. I was worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“About you… Is that illegal?”

“No. Just wondering.” _No one’s ever done that for me before._ “…you’re a good person, Mar.”

Marco grinned wide, chuckling quietly. “You’re a good person too, Jay.” He began to walk in the opposite direction, turning around halfway to call out. “I’ll see you later in Psych!”

Jean only managed a nod and a wave; he could already feel his face burning up as he headed for Rosario. Professor Zacharius’s voice was in his head already, teasing him lightly as he walked into the room. Someone would ask about it, as if they believed they could get a real response from it, though it was more than likely that they already knew the whole story. These days, he was an open book, easy to read, with big, bold print across the spine and the pages bound together with a clear material. Though this time, his heart was fluttering for a different reason, and not out of flattery that the freckled chef had waited for him while the rest of Greek life left. No, it was something deeper than that, something that tore him apart and rendered him speechless, something that even Connie, his best friend since pre-k, couldn’t say about him.

_You’re a good person too, Jay._

He had been nice to Marco because he was given niceness in return. There was no reason for hostility, for it was clear right off the bat that there was genuine hospitality and friendliness when they wrote–and, now, when they could speak and see and hear and laugh and imagine the sound or sight. And platt of it was in thanks to the kind-hearted Californian who didn’t like the color orange or zombies, who was a vegan but still cooked with animal products, who used exclamation points and smiley faces and doodled on his letters, who wrote “Dear Jean hello” because he thought it was the polite thing to do. It made Jean happy that there was someone who wanted to know so much about him, to learn about him and get to know him. That’s what made him different from the rest of his troupe of friends: they knew so much about him as a chore, as every friend deserved to know. It wasn’t a school assignment that brought him and Marco together. It was their own decision, their own curiosity, their own will. It was their choice, and it separated the Californian from the rest of them.

Jean had to stop at a bench to breathe properly, to calm his erratic heartbeat, to bite back the sobs that threatened to rip through his throat. He was just as in love with him then as he was when they wrote. And yet Marco Bodt, flaws or not, was too perfect for him to love.


	8. Smiles and Warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erwin Smith is a very attractive man and I wish he appeared more in this story. But alas, that's for another. :')
> 
> This is more of a social chapter I guess? Like there's a lot of talking and conversing and stuff like that. But we don't get a break from the ever-so-troublesome Jean, who has just now realized he's head-over-heels in love with our freckled vegan and he's /fucked/.
> 
> You are stupendous.

Whenever a student fell asleep in Professor Levi's class, his methods of waking them up varied and were often done without a flinch. He had pulled their chairs out from under them, stuck the ends of pens into their ear, and made sure that a heavy book of some sort landed right beside their ears–a method now used to startle Jean from his sleep. Almost instantly, the musician was awake, his arm previously hanging off the edge of the desk now rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. Of all places for his sleep loss to catch up with him, it had to be one with the short teacher that had the strength of five men combined (or so it was said).

"If you're going to take a nap, I suggest you do it outside of my class, Mister Kirschtein-Bodt," Levi scolded in his neutral tone. A glance beside him, at disheveled hair and alarmed yet droopy chocolate eyes, told him that Marco had fallen asleep as well. "This is college, not a bedroom. That is a book, not a pillow, and I am a professor, not an alarm clock." The professor swept another brief gaze over them before he took his book and returned it to the small pile on his desk. “I suggest you lessen up your time in bed masturbating and try to shut your eyes for sleep instead of pleasure."

Jean’s eyes widened, his face blooming a deep red. He could hear the snorts and chortles, see the amused glances, but Levi, after stealing the Pringles Connie and Sasha were sharing, continued with where he had left off as if nothing had happened. Jean would get notes from someone productive–Historia or Reiner–but his thoughts were cut short by a post-it note that appeared on top of his notebook.

_Maybe Levi will spare a hand or our genitals when he cuts off a leg so we can still masturbate. ;)_

Jean could barely read the rest of the note before he snorted, covering his mouth to prevent any more noises from coming out. He had already disrupted Levi's lecture once; he wasn't going to get away so easily next time. However, Marco's bright grin hidden behind scrunched fingers was enough to wash away any worries he had, and was enough to prompt him to write:

_I never would have thought that he was a psychic as well. Maybe we need to be quieter when we do it._

The chef bit down on his hand at the reply, eyes shut and face transforming into scarlet. Jean's was still burning from before, but, to his surprise, he wasn't as worried about it. If he was on his own, it would have been a different story. To see the warm smile and dark chocolate eyes sparkle with life dissipated his typical worries.

“Jean! What do you want to do for lunch?!”

The musician was startled from his thoughts by the shove on his shoulder and a frustrated Connie. “Quit yelling and I’ll tell you!”

“Answer me the first time, then!” The bald male glared. "Sash and I are going to Michelangelo's. Do you want to come with us?"

Michelangelo's was a student-friendly pizzeria, owned by Stohess graduates, that was a popular hangout for social gatherings. They had added a soundproof study lounge both upstairs and on the ground floor created especially for students. The hospitality of the workers, the food served, and the general atmosphere of the restaurant kept its popularity high enough to even have its own venue at school events.

Jean looked over at Marco. "You wanna come with us?" He could already tell that Connie would be upset, but there was a side of him that could have cared less. There was no harm in bringing him along, especially because the freckled male wasn’t a danger to anyone. 

The vegan nodded, and his smile widened. "Sure!" He replied. "What are their veggie options?"

"I don't think they have any," Connie stated curtly. There was venom in his tone, as if he was about to lunge at and poison the chef at any minute. 

"They have a whole separate menu for vegans and vegetarians," the two-toned-haired male rolled his eyes. "And it doesn't empty your wallet either. But they don't do anything bad to the animals–and they have that USDA paper stuff that they hang on walls to prove it."

Marco looked from one to the other, nodding slowly. "Okay, well… I'd be happy to go, even if there weren't vegan options."

Jean smirked at his shorter friend, who was fuming red with rage. Sasha, upon hearing the update, screamed and had pulled her new friend up to his feet so they could get going right away. Connie began to follow, but the musical tugged him back by his collar, forcing him to walk alongside him. "Whatever bullshit problem you have with Marco, I want you to drop it and grow the fuck up."

"I don't have any bullshit problem with him!" The shorter snapped; he was able to break out of the clutch but still walked beside him. "Why don't you just go walk behind Freckled Jesus?! You two are closer than we’ve ever been!"

"If you were okay with him, you wouldn't be saying shit like that!" Connie could be easier to read than an open book when it came to confrontation. It was one of the few times he slipped out of his emotional shield and showed his reactions to a situation.

"Because he's what I was to you, and that's not okay!"

"Oh dear God, please tell me you're joking—"

"I'm being serious, dammit!"

"Well what do you want me to tell you?! 'No way, Con, he's not my best friend, even though he's been talking to me since third grade and knows everything about me'?"

When Connie didn't answer, Jean clutched onto his shoulder and flung him against a tree aligned with the gates that led to the city of Trost. Sasha and Marco were chatting and walking ahead of them, oblivious to the duo behind them.

The taller pinned the bald male to the bark by his shoulders, and stared straight at him in all seriousness. "Marco Bodt makes up for what you can't do for me, just as much as you make up for what he can't do. It's always been that way. I couldn't go over a test with him because he didn't take it. And you couldn't help me figure out my sexuality because you're not gay. But you were both there for me, and I'm not going to choose who I want and who I don't want. And if we're going to talk about who's closer with who, how about we talk about you and Sasha last Wednesday night when you shared a banana-strawberry smoothie from Froio's on the floor of our room while building a house of cards? Or when you got jealous over that asshole Alex she dated when we were sixteen, and how the only thing you ever fucking talked about was how unfair it was that she had to fall in love with a jackass?"

At first, the shorter male was silent, eyes downcast and trained on his feet. The musician had released and backed away from him, but still stared at his friend's face. Connie Springer was born with kindness and without any hate in him in a family filled with judgmental, prejudice family members. For years, their group of friends had been kicked out of his home simply because Mr. Springer didn't want, in his own words, "any diseases that the homosexuals carry in my home". Yet every time they were kicked out, Connie went with them, unable to let his blood family divide him from the family that had been with him more times than anyone ever had.

"It was a Coke float," Connie finally said in a quiet voice, and he looked up at Jean with a faint smile. Whatever had gone through his head, it was enough to change his demeanor, and it was able to pull a grin from the musician.

"Try to talk to him. You saw how he acted around us when he came over Saturday. At least give him a chance."

"…alright. I'll try, Jay."

x-x-x

Sasha was standing in line and looking at the menu when Jean, after shoving Connie over to Marco and yelling "Make nice, boys!" over his shoulder, nudged her hip with his in greeting. The brunette looked over at him, and burst into a fit of laughter.

"I _love_ Marco!" She exclaimed. "He's the gay best friend I never had!"

"I thought _I_ was your gay best friend," he chuckled quietly. He had been close with Sasha for years, so her outbursts were ineffective against him. He was used to them by now.

Sasha blew a raspberry at him, and then rolled her eyes. "As if. You hate shopping more than horse jokes."

"Ehh."

"Okay, maybe not _more_ than horse jokes. But you still don't like it. But Marco said that if it was with me, he wouldn't mind going to the mall with me–even though he doesn't like the mall because it's always so loud and crowded and he doesn’t like shopping for himself because the clothes are always the same. But we said that we were going to look for winter clothes soon, and then we're gonna watch every single Jurassic Park movie—did you know he still hasn't seen the first one but he saw the third one because his cousin told him about the Spinosaurus and T-Rex battling to the death? Actually, you probably already knew that, but still! It's _terrible_!"

At least one of his friends liked Marco. It was relieving to see her so ecstatic and already planning to go places with him. "Connie doesn't like him."

Sasha had turned back to look at the menu, but she immediately focused her gaze back on him, ponytail flying behind her. "What do you mean he doesn't like him?!"

"He's jealous. How are we going to split the pizzas?"

"Oh no— _no_ , we are not changing the subject that easily, Jay. Is he upset because he thinks he's being replaced?"

"Why else would he be upset? It's like his blood was swapped for vinegar."

The female scowled, irritation show clearly on her face. "As if Marco ever did anything wrong to him. There's nothing wrong with getting to know new people. Especially when they have no reason to be malicious!"

"That's something that Con will probably never learn."

"Well, he has to, because he's a part of your life now. He has been for a long time, and we didn't even know it." She faced him with a smile, soft and understanding in a way only Sasha could. “It’s like you were different halves, and then you came back together, and everything’s okay. You two will be dating in no time. I know it.”

"Just order the pizza, Sash." Jean acted calm and cool on the outside, but inside, he was struck with a mixture of anxiety and amazement. His thoughts from earlier, on his imperfections and Marco’s ability to be flawless in every sense, were hidden for now at the image of him and the Californian being a couple, holding hands and going on dates and using cheesy nicknames. It was his old childhood dream, something Santa and money had never been able to make a reality, and it resurfaced with the thought of omelettes and classic rock playing in the kitchen, one with a guitar and the other a skillet, singing and dancing in their own space, to their own rhythm. One would forget what he was doing to hug the other, wrap his arms around his waist, press soft kisses along his neck and cheeks and lips–

“You better help me pay for this! I didn't come here to get dinner for the king!"

"Alright, alright, I promise!" The musician shifted the brunette away from him and back to arm's length. "Your breath smells like potatoes and sour cream."

The journalist was grinning, her hair thrown over her shoulder with a swift turn of her head. There was something about Sasha and romance that convinced others that she was a fortune teller when it came to relationships and love. She had done it for Reiner and Bertolt, and she had said it to Ymir. Even if she personally had never been very accurate or lucky when it came to romance, she was talented in aiding others and seeing where it lied between two people. If there was anyone who could predict a relationship, and accurately at that, it was her.

Marco and Connie were, thankfully, in a friendly conversation with one another when Jean and Sasha arrived at the table, drinks in their hands. The other two, sitting side by side, were leaning in close to one another while the Californian shifted through pictures on the expensive Canon camera Connie had gotten for his eighteenth birthday. There were three things in his life that their bald friend loved more than anything: his friends, music, and photography. He had been taking pictures since he had toy cameras and disposable Kodaks that were always used up in the same day. It was something he loved because he was good at it, looking at a subject from afar, a window frozen in time permanently to view.

It was also one of only two gifts he had accepted from his family.

There was no hostility among the duo as they went through photo after photo, Marco smiling and commenting on a picture and Connie, grinning just as wide, explaining the style and subject and every miniscule detail. Sasha had turned around and nearly squealed at the sight, and Jean could only shake his head in return, resisting the urge to look at the freckled male. However, when they sat down, the two still made no acknowledgement of the other duo. The journalist cleared her throat casually, and waited, and when that didn't do anything in reaction and continued their conversation, she slammed her palm on top of the table. "Earth to the nerds!"

Marco jumped at the sound, glancing up at Sasha and smiling brightly. "Hi!" He waved, bringing Connie back to reality as well. "We didn't see you there!"

"Duhhh! What are you even looking at?" She had started to lean over to look, but the photographer pushed her back.

"You'll see later," he laughed, his face content and genuine. "It's a surprise."

"That's not fair! How come Marco gets to see and I don't?!"

"Because his name isn't Sasha Braus!"

The girl huffed and leaned back in the booth seat. "That's racist. And sexist. And _illegal_."

"I'm not trying to be like that—"

"You are so lying—how could you do this?!"

Jean, rolled his eyes and, locking eye contact with Marco, gestured to the quarreling duo. "Pardon the married couple," he sighed. "They enjoy arguing for endless hours on end and blasting your eardrums."

Marco laughed in response; "I don't mind; and they're not doing any real harm! I enjoy talking to them—and you! But they're fun." He nodded and looked at the two, Sasha jabbing a finger in a taunting Connie’s cheek, and then smiled back at Jean. "I like them."

Their pizza came a few minutes later, after the four had been reduced to a mixture of low voices and laughter. Sasha and Connie had gotten a half-and-half deal with a meat lovers and extra cheese, and Marco and Jean shared the vegan style. The Californian had, at first, insisted that he would buy him a new pizza—"You don't have to eat it, really!"—but the two-toned-haired male stopped him with a smirk—"Sharing is caring, Mar."—and a bite into the slice. It wasn’t a bad taste, but it was certainly different from what he was used to eating. He ate a few slices, and may have stolen one of Sasha’s when she had gone to the bathroom. Even though he preferred the complete opposite of a vegan lifestyle, he still had enjoyed it. Marco had also liked it, judging from the licked fingers and cheerful grin that never left his face.

When both pies were finished, the camera was back out once more. Marco and Sasha traded it back and forth, posing and snapping pictures that ranged from ridiculous and questionable to suitable and simple. It had been the most fun the quartet had had in a long time, and when Marco and Connie had to leave for class once more, all four agreed to have another afternoon like this in the future.

“You have that look on your face again,” Sasha pointed out once the other duo was gone, happily chatting as they went.

Jean looked up at her, sipping the rest of his drink nonchalantly, though he was already aware as to what she meant. She had seen the glances and the way he and Marco had been acting around one another. It was true they had grown close throughout the week, and had caught up with one another where they had left off before their letters to one another ended. Though whether to hide it to her or not was the option. “What look on my face?”

“Jay, you know what I’m talking about. The way you look at Marco?”

“I have no idea—"

The brunette leaned in close, the tips of their noses barely touching. “I knew you liked him, but I didn't know it was like _this_.”

“You’re insane.”

“I am not!” Jean got up to leave, but Sasha pulled him back down once more. “Just admit it! You _want_ him _badly_.”

The musician snorted and shoved her away, before he stood and headed for the exit. “I’m done here.”

“Oh come on, party pooper!” The shorter followed after him, keeping up with him easily. “It’s okay to like him! I mean, look at him—he’s cute, he’s nice, he’s friendly—”

“The exact reasons as to why I can’t go out with him. Because I’m not good enough for him.”

“If you weren’t good enough for him, then you wouldn’t be looking at him like you wanted to lick that tomato sauce off his face. And you wouldn’t be so head-over-heels in puppy love with him either!”

Jean didn’t answer her; either way she knew the answers to his question just by looking at how he acted. He had loved Marco romantically for all of high school, even when they graduated and lost touch. Then again, how could he not? Sasha was right when she said that the freckled male was cute, kind, and friendly, and he was more than just that. But he couldn’t help but try and hold back that desire to ask him out. Marco Bodt was much too lovely for an asshole like himself, and he made a promise to keep himself emotionally and romantically away from precious freckles and joyous smiles that he couldn’t help but smile back at.

He and Sasha had gone back to AOPi, enjoying some friendly company from Historia and Ymir, when he got the text from Connie apologizing for earlier, as well as for his previous assumptions about Marco. He didn’t explain further as to what he meant, but he didn’t have to. He understood, and it settled the uneasiness that had been in his stomach. His friends were okay with one another, with no hostility or cold glares or hateful thoughts. Connie’s actions today had explained enough for him, especially when the Californian showed up later that week, with a duffel bag and bean dip and a handful of board games, and the photographer didn't hold back who he was.


	9. Mazes and Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea what happened over the course of this week and last. Like, I honestly forgot that this story has to be updated.
> 
> At least it happens on a Saturday, am I right?
> 
> And yay for Connie for no longer being a jealous asshole. What will his next move be? Will Jean and Marco finally be together? Who knows?
> 
> Your face is fabulous.

_One week later  
_ _Monday_

“Alright, boys. This is it.”

“You make it sound like we’re going to war. It’s a fucking corn maze.”

“Shut up, Jean. Let the man talk.”

“‘Man’? What man? We’re college kids in a fucking frat competition.”

“And it’s the most fucking important moment of our lives.”

“It’s a _frat competition_! For _Homecoming_!"

“Eren, please continue before someone gets hurt.”

“Thanks, Reiner, I’m glad someone appreciates the things I do.”

“Kiss-ass.”

“Now we can’t just go in here and expect success immediately. We need to strategize.”

“What is there to strategize?!”

"Jean, stop yelling!”

“Can we at least listen to what he has to say? Just for the sake of listening?”

“No!”

“Just _listen_ for a minute, and then we can go! Can you do that?”

Homecoming Week at Stohess had always been a tradition taken seriously by all students. It was a week-long event with cook-outs, races, and games that were meant for fall traditions. With the addition of Greek life only last year, it became a slightly different situation. "Battle of the Greeks" was just what it sounded like; Stohess'  fraternities and sororities battled for dominance over which house was the best. It was more competitive in the fall than the spring, but both were equally as fun and entertaining. One of the best parts, and something the more creative students took pride in, was the t-shirt design for each house. This year, AOPi wore jackets modeled off of the Pink Ladies from "Grease", emblazoned with their last names on the back. Fiji went for something more original but also grueling. Their shirts spelled out the nickname of their frat, but with palm trees, with the actual shirt itself possessing a beach design.

Monday began the first set of competitions, this year with a corn maze and search. The goal was to find the shirt, worn by a scarecrow, of the twin sorority or fraternity and exit the maze first. It required teamwork, as cheesy as it was to say, but it didn't matter to Jean. He knew before they were even inside that this would be difficult. And he was right; approximately twenty minutes in, Eren had taken them down two dead ends and three chests that did not have the shirt that represented AOPi.

"Again, with this," the "leader" of the six grumbled as Fiji came across a split in the path. He kicked over a pebble in retaliation. "This shouldn't be so difficult."

"Well apparently it is," Jean scoffed back. "This isn't frolicking through flowers."

"I'll frolick on _your_ flowers."

"Yeah, talk to me when you actually have good comebacks."

"Well then knock-knock, because I'm here and I don't give a shit what you think."

"I'm glad! I care so much, wow!"

"Literally everyone in Trost can hear you two," Connie pointed out. "You need to shut up."

"You shut up, you can't even reach the counter top."

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

"I think we're lost," Armin said, getting the other three back on track.

"No we're not, I know where we're going," Eren tried to assure him as they reached a dead end.

"Where are Bert and Reiner?" Connie wondered, turning around in circles as if it would help him find them. "They were just here."

"We split up with them at the fork, remember?" The blond reminded him. "We went one way and they went the other."

"When was this?"

"Eren was frolicking on Jean's flowers, I think."

"…are you sure I was here for that?"

"Just be quiet, Connie," Jean sighed.

"Hop off, Jean, you're just mad because you haven't talked to Marco since Saturday."

The two-toned-haired male elbowed the shorter as he passed by him. It was true, yes, but it had only been done because they both had to prepare for homecoming week on Sunday.

"Ow—what the hell, man?! I didn't even do anything!"

"That’s not why I'm mad, idiot. I'm mad because you guys are assholes and don't know what you're doing. Except for you, Charmin. You're the only one."

"Thanks, Jean." "Yeah, thanks Jean, because we totally haven't done shit together!"

Reiner and Bertolt reappeared from another way, surprising Connie as the taller of the duo held out a pink jacket, with red Greek letters on the back. "We found AOPi's jacket in the place you would least expect it," he said.

"Where, on the ground?" Eren asked.

"No, someone actually threw it on top of the corn behind the scarecrow," Reiner informed them. "We had to climb into the stalks to get it."

" _I_ climbed in," Bert corrected him. "You stood back and watched."

"I saved you from knocking the scarecrow over!"

"So we can leave now?" Connie wondered with hope.

"Finally," Eren sighed as he started off in a direction.

"Eren," Armin spoke up, "we already went that way."

"I knew that! I was just checking to see if anyone was behind us."

"You are such a bullshit liar," Jean rolled his eyes.

"Fuck off, I know what I'm doing."

When the six finally headed in a direction that they assumed was correct, they broke off into separate conversations. It was something they had always done, something they were used to yet enjoyed. Although they were six in total, their strongest relationship always stood out. From behind Jean, Reiner and Bertolt were discussing whatever had gone down during the time they spent on the other path. Eren and Armin, although they made sure they were going the right way, shared small talk as well. Jean and Connie, initially, remained quiet, but the latter interrupted the moment with a tap of the shoulder.

“So,” the shorter began, “you and Marco.”

Almost instantly, Jean rolled his eyes and sighed; “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Wait, what? I swear it’s good this time!”

“I’m sure it is, Connie.”

“No, you don’t get it. I actually wanna say _nice_ things.”

“After you were a total dick the first time?!”

A deep frown creased Connie’s forehead, and he pouted briefly, keeping the silence between them tense, before he started up again. “I just wanted to know if you two were dating.”

The taller male’s face lit up in embarrassment, and he looked away immediately. The thought had crossed his mind over the days he had talked with Marco, especially now that talking with him was easier. He didn’t have anything to hide, and he didn’t have anything to hold back from. The time he spent with the freckled chef was time spent laughing and joking around, time he wished he had had when they wrote and time he was now allowed to enact upon without any hindrances.

“I knew it! Sasha owes me ten bucks! I knew you two were dating!”

“We’re not together!”

Connie whipped around to face Reiner and Bertolt, walking backwards as he did, and interrupted their conversation. “Guys, how do you feel about this?”

The duo shared a confused look. “How do we feel about…?” The shorter asked.

“About Marco and Jean dating!”

“We’re not dating,” Jean countered with a glare to Connie. “We haven’t even talked about something like that.”

“But you’ve _thought_ about it!”

“Yeah, sure, but—”

“So you _want_ to!”

“Connie fucking Springer—”

“I think it could work out,” Bertolt shrugged.

Reiner nodded in agreement. “It’s probably gonna wind up happening sooner or later.”

“How could you say something like that?!” Jean frowned.

“Did you ask Sasha about it yet?” Armin piped in.

“She gave it a month, but I don’t know, it might be sooner,” Connie answered.

The musician halted the group’s movements, determined to end the conversation before it wandered off into undesired territory. “Look, the only relationship Marco and I have is as good friends. We both agreed that we should wait until we get used to each other in person before we make any other decisions.”

“You built your entire relationship on letters and you two are going to wait before dating?” Eren snorted. “Sounds like you guys were _really_ close.”

“I didn’t fucking ask for your opinion, Jaeger. I’m letting you assholes know before you spread something that’s not true.”

“Who are we gonna tell?!”

“Connie fucking told you guys about me writing Marco!”

“They had _nachos_ and _quesadillas_ ,” Connie protested. “You try saying no to that on an empty stomach.”

Jean rolled his eyes; “Either way, we’re not dating, and we probably won’t be for a long time.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Reiner chuckled. “How long did Sash give them? A month?”

“I hope we get lost in this maze so I’ll have an excuse to turn to cannibalism.”

The six finally made their way out of the maze and took third place out of seven fraternities. In return, AOPi had managed to take second place for the sororities. In the end, it had been fun, even if Pike had managed to steal first place.

When a variety of food trucks pulled up and opened their venues, Fiji momentarily splitting up to get their food, Jean was startled by a familiar whisper in his ear, "Good job getting third place today."

At first, he jumped and looked at the owner of the voice with confusion. But once he registered and recognized the speaker as Marco Bodt, he sighed and turned back to the menu. "We would have gotten higher if someone hadn't thrown our shirt in the corn."

The taller grinned, laughing at the musician's response. “That wasn’t my fault; I’m just guilty by association.”

“I bet you didn’t do anything about it though.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But it’s all for fun, right?”

Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mom.”

“Aww, I see that as a good thing!” Marco nudged his side with his hip. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

It was as if they had been dating for a while, and were trying to figure out when to introduce him to his parents. But for Jean, and he was sure for Marco as well, it was something they had wondered about for years. He recalled the Californian always changing the subject when his family was mentioned, or never answering the questions about it, but he always showed an eagerness to talk about the Virginian’s family, even if it was negative. Jean always wondered, but never asked, if it was out of genuity or to meet someone who treated him as a person and not a bother.

“Hey, stop frowning. You look so sad when you frown.”

Marco prodded his cheek then, interrupting his train of thought and gathering his attention to worried hazelnut eyes. “Hah?”

"You looked very sad just now and I don't know why." The chef stepped closer and poked once again at his face. "But you look much better when you smile."

The compliment flared at his face and he would have lost his composure if it weren't his rational thinking that was able to slow his heartbeat and keep him under control. Jean took his hand in his, unsure of what to do with the warm fingers and the pressure felt against his hands, before he let them fall from his grasp. To counter it, however, he made sure to add a smile to it, as soft as he could manage. "I'll remember that for next time."

Marco returned the gesture, clearly reassured and cleared of any worries. "Good! Your happiness is really important to me, Jean. You deserve to be happy."

The words haunted him when he put in his order, and while he waited for his sub to be ready. It hung over him while he and Marco tossed teasing jabs, one after the other, for what was about to come later in the week. When he had to say a momentary goodbye, the words remained on his mind and in his ears and around his stomach, filling it with butterflies that made him queasy. Eating and conversing with the members of Fji and AOPi proved to be more difficult than it would have been any other time. And yet the statement didn't leave until Marco appeared in front of him once again, one hand outstretched for Jean to take, with a glint of genuine friendliness in his eyes.

"May I have this dance, Sir Kirschtein?"

At first, the music didn’t register to his ears, and he noticed with slight surprise that the rest of Fiji had spread apart and took to different parts of the picnic area. All members of AOPi were relatively close by, but still a distance away from him. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting down, with a half-eaten sandwich in front of him, but before he realized it, he was taking the freckled hand offered to him and was pulled away from the table. Being with Marco felt like an indestructible bubble had been put around them and separated them from the rest of the world. The abstract area they were placed inside filled with a warm friendly air that scattered the musician’s stomach and sent electric jolts down his spine.

“Do you wanna lead?” Jean asked in a low voice before he felt a callused hand press against his lower back and pull him forward. He swallowed a surprised yelp, and settled for a squeeze of their entwined hands.

Marco smiled with a gentle laugh; “If you want me to.”

“I don’t mind.” He placed his other hand against his shoulder and gave a reassuring rise of his lips. “Woo me.”

“Heh, I’ll try my best.”

Their movements went in perfect time with the music, in a light sway that soothed Jean’s twisted nerves. Eyes of fierce honey met with sweet chocolate and stayed firmly locked together, their shared breaths hot against his lips. The Virginian felt the sudden impulse to surge forward and kiss him with a passion that overcame his senses, just to taste the sweetness hidden beneath friendly grins that wanted nothing more than to see the world smile. What kept him rooted in the spot was the mellow atmosphere that hugged them to one another, and convinced Jean to finally rest his head against his shoulder. At that time, Marco’s hands, callused and worn from kitchen utensils, opted for wrapping around his waist and holding him there, a soft caress that kept any negativity outwards.

“Your friends are staring at us.”

“Mm. Bet you they’re putting money on when we’ll kiss.”

A deep chuckle rumbled against his ears, and, with one hand brushing back his bangs, a gentle peck landed on his forehead. Jean sat up as soon as it had gone, his gaze instantly flitting to Marco’s lightly blushing face. “They’re funny. I should hang out with them more often.”

The Virginian couldn’t help but laugh at that, and returned to resting his head against his shoulder. Marco had a strange ability to lower Jean’s guard and break down the exterior he had built for others to see. He peeled back the layers that hid his more intimate side, and the rational side of him scolded him for even letting the chef proceed. But the opposite side, the one that caused flushed features and nervous laughs, convinced him to let it happen, to let that inner side of him be seen to the Californian and to him only. No one else would judge him, or poke fun at him for feeling something that contrasted with his naturally rugged personality.

Marco would love him for who he was: passionately, endlessly, unconditionally.


	10. Flirting and Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that in that last chapter, Jean and Marco danced to "Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight / The End". Because they're nerdy like that. 
> 
> This chapter was pretty fun. Get to see some familiar faces, some protective Jean, some of Marco's weakness. I could go on, but you should be reading that, not this. :) 
> 
> **WARNING: drug references in here. Just in case. The thought of Eld and Gunther owning a hookah makes me smile.**
> 
> Your face looks lovely today.

When Friday came by, Jean made sure he spent as little to no time with Fiji before the bonfire. If it had been any other event, he wouldn't have cared so much. But he already missed homecoming in his fraternity once, and now it was becoming a tradition. He didn’t want to bother or guilt the rest of Fiji into not going, so as soon as classes were over, he went to the radio station for his internship. Even though he usually went on Fridays, Eld and Gunther had excused him for homecoming. However, thanks to his suspension, it turned into the best option for him to go to other than home. And thankfully, he knew the radio hosts well enough that they weren’t bothered by him coming in.

Aside from the occasional check-up texts from Fiji or AOPi, the musician was able to avoid any reminder of the Homecoming night he was missing. He had tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter he was missing out, but eventually, he snapped out of it and came to terms with the fact that he could have, in fact, been there and not in the studio. Though if he hadn’t said anything, would Fiji have had some sort of punishment on all of them if he had kept quiet?

Regardless, the method of "snapping out of it" was not done by himself, but by knuckles rapping against the door and a point towards the front of the studio. Jean, who had been going over a new piece he had received a few days before, walked out the door that connected his studio to a number of offices. He spotted the freckled male before he had even gotten through the door, and strode over to him with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

Marco had been examining the posters hung on the wall when Jean spoke, and he spun around on his heels to look at and smile at him despite the confusion that accompanied it. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You should be at the bonfire right now."

"Why would I be there?"

The small tilt of his head, accompanied by his question, would have made the musician yell if it weren't for the "on air" light signifying the live show going on. Instead, he let out a long sigh and shut his eyes, and quietly asked, "Aren't you with Pike?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Alright, good. So we know that much. Do you know your name, or do we have to review that too?"

The Californian laughed; "No, we don't. I know who I am."

He scoffed. "What a relief. You still haven't told me what you're doing here, though."

"Oh; I guess I haven't, haha!"

"Marco Bodt, if you don't fucking directly answer me right now—"

"So _this_ is the Marco Bodt he's been swooning over."

Jean glanced over at the speaker to see Eld and Gunther, both smirking and both standing with arms crossed in the doorway to their studio. The blond chuckled at the statement and shook his head. "Such young love. You would have thought they were Romeo and Juliet."

"'If I profane with my unworthiest hand'," Gunther quoted, and his companion reached out his hand to press against his, "'this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this'—"

The two-toned-haired male, exhaling in exasperation, focused back on Marco before the radio hosts got out of hand. "Meet Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the bumbling idiots of radio."

"We're not that bad!"

"Nice nicknames, though," Eld grinned, and gestured to a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm that read "Rosencrantz". A similar-looking one with "Guildenstern" in the same place was on Gunther's arm. "Lack of originality though."

"You quoted 'Romeo and Juliet'," Jean deadpanned. "Don't talk to me about originality."

"I thought it was nice," Marco shrugged with a happy smile.

"Don't encourage them."

"I'm not! I'm complimenting them!"

"Which we gladly thank you for," Gunther added.

"See? We're being nice! Don't be so grumpy."

Eld snorted, "We already tried telling him, but it never works. His mood is forever like that."

"It is not," Jean grumbled, slightly embarrassed yet admittedly irked by the topic of the conversation.

“Please, you wouldn’t know romance if it hit you in the face and ran you over,” Gunther teased.

“Are we just going to stand here and tease me, or are we actually going to do something productive with our lives?”

“You’re right,” Eld nodded, though there were still traces of amusement on his features. “Juliet—I mean Marco, is there anything we can do for you? Some water? Food? We got fries in the back; really good.

“Oh, no thank you! I’m good,” Marco grinned.

“We got a hookah and some cannabis too—if you’re into that stuff.”

“Ah, I’ll pass. I actually just came by to ask Jean out.”

Both of the radio hosts raised their eyebrows at that, expressions filled with mirth and already teasing their intern. Jean, on the other hand, looked at Marco as if he had lost his mind–and he was sure it already was. Asking him out, when he could be doing other things? Like attending a bonfire party that was supposedly one of the biggest events at Stohess? “You want to take _me_ out?”

Marco nodded, still smiling, still happy, still without flaws. “That’s what I said.”

“…who put you up to this?”

“No one.”

“Sasha?”

“No.”

“Reiner? Connie? Fuck, if it was _Eren_ —”

Another laugh, carefree and gentle. “I put myself up to it. They didn’t have an influence on it.”

There was no way he could be lying, even if the musician wanted him to so desperately making this a joke. Arms crossed in front of his chest, he huffed and kept his gaze focused on his feet. He wanted to be happy that Marco had come here, on his own terms, without anyone’s influence, just to ask him on a date. But he knew it was too good to be true. How could someone who smiled with such ease want to take out someone who frowned with such aggression?

“Fine… I accept your date,” Jean grumbled under his breath.

Marco grinned and laughed with exuberance. “Good! I was almost worried you would say no!”

_Heh. Good thing I didn’t disappoint you then._

“Don’t worry—if he had said no, we would have forced him to go,” Eld pointed out.

“Don’t you two have a show to host?” The two-toned-haired Virginian grumbled beneath his breath.

Gunther shrugged; “We should be good for a few more minutes. Songs are already queued up.”

“Go out and have some fun,” the blond urged. “You’re better off out there than being cooped up in a studio.”

“I really don’t mind staying in here, though,” Jean stated.

“But you already said yes to me~” The Californian pointed out. “Come on, Jean; I know you love what you do here, but we can be having a whole lot more fun together.”

“Just go!” Eld urged.

“It won’t kill you to have fun,” Gunther pointed out.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Jean snapped as he retreated into the back room, where he had come from a few minutes earlier, to grab his coat. “You’re worse than my parents.” He shrugged it on and stuffed his hands into his pockets, already aware of his behavior yet not caring. The chef hadn’t stopped smiling since he had agreed to go on a date with him. “So where are you taking me?”

“I was thinking Cat’s Diner maybe,” Marco informed him. “I’ve been there a few times with Pike and the people there are really nice! Plus, you can find just about anything you can eat on the menu—and it’s edible.”

“Alright. Sounds good.” He had never been to Cat’s before, but he had heard from Ymir and Historia, as well as Reiner and Bertolt, that it was definitely a place to check out. “Lead the way, Sir Bodt.”

“Will do, Lord Kirschtein!” The taller reached over and grabbed his hand before he hauled him out of the studio and into the chilly October air.

“And remember: safe sex is fun sex!” Eld called out after him.

“Don’t forget lube!” His partner added.

“Try not to do it in public!”

“And have some fun!”

Jean, his face flushed harshly, broke away from Marco to return his hand back to his pocket, and he stole one more glance before facing front once more. "Idiots," he grumbled. "They need lives already."

In response, and with just as scarlet cheeks, the Californian chuckled; "I think what they have is good enough for them."

Trost was a well-sized city that acted as both a college town and a bustling urban setting that made it easy for students out of Stohess University to get a job or internship. It was two and a half hours away from their hometown, and filled to the brim with small local businesses and busy streets. For college students, it was a world filled with weekend hangouts and more opportunities as soon as they received their diploma. The campus itself, at a thousand acres, was surrounded cozily by the city, and provided easy access from either location.

"Y'know, I haven't been on a date in a few years, actually," Jean admitted as they walked past the entrance to Stohess and towards Main Street.

"Oh?" Marco's eyebrows raised at that. "When was that?"

"Around…end of September, tenth grade? I like to call it the last ditch effort to deny my sexuality."

"Oh wow." The taller bit his lip, but couldn't hide the sheepish smile that crossed his face. "That's…impressive."

Amber eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced over at the dark-haired male. "When was yours?"

"That's a good question, ahah. I wanna say it was…beginning of senior year?"

A bubble of jealousy filled his chest, his pace slowing down considerably. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but to hear that during the time of their letter writing, he had been on a date with someone and hadn't told the native Virginian about it hurt him, and set a bitter pill into the pit of his stomach. Perhaps Marco truly didn't share his feelings. Maybe this was an act, and their friendship was nothing but that.

Then again, how could someone like Marco Bodt, who had a constellation of freckles and a heart of gold, do something as malicious as that? Especially when they had been unable to get enough of each other just last Sunday.

When Marco stole a quick glimpse at him, he grabbed his hand and whined; "Please don't be mad at me. I-it was for Mina, because she didn't believe I was gay—"

"She didn't believe you were—Jesus, Marco, did you keep it from her or something?!"

"No no, it's nothing like that! She was the first one to know, but she didn't believe me! She thought it was a joke throughout all of high school until I finally went out with her to prove that I wasn't. It was fine—she wasn't my type, anyway—but it was for her, I promise. I don't hold any feelings for her whatsoever."

Jean looked him up and down a few times before he locked eyes with him. There was nothing but honesty in the replica of dark chocolate, pools of cappuccino brown that reflected the light off of the street lamps that suddenly jumped to life. Marco truly looked apologetic, his eyebrows scrunched together and curved downward. The light-haired male sighed and shook his head. "Stop giving me that look. I'm not mad at you."

Marco exhaled and relaxed, a smile gracing his features. "That's good!" The duo started to walk once again, this time with less tension. "Can I ask who you went with?"

At first, the musician didn't respond–not intentionally, but because he couldn't remember who he had last gone out with out of his choices. It had been long ago, and he had forced himself to forget the awkwardness of the situation. "Either Sasha or Mikasa. I can't remember which was last."

"You forgot who you went out with? And you _know_ them?"

"Heh, yeah. I didn't want to remember that I had fucked up."

The freckled male frowned at that, humming quietly. "Sounds bad."

"Eh. Sasha's was fun, but it wasn't what I was looking for. Mikasa, on the other hand…"

"A disaster?"

"Think of a tornado meeting a category five hurricane. The word 'disaster' is like a sandbox compared to that mess." Jean smirked faintly as he recalled something from that time, when he was still in denial and unaware of the natural grandeur of Marco Bodt. "You know how I was; I was fucking crazy 'in love' with her."

"Heh, I remember. You told me about your attempt to woo her with Gushers and Pop Rocks."

"Hey, that was a dark time in my life. And I got over her when we got to high school and I found out I had feelings for someone else. That and she wasn't even the slightest bit interested in me, so it's not like I had a chance blown or something."

"Who did you start liking in her place?"

Jean only smiled and looked ahead. Marco initially stared back in confusion, but his face was soon splitting into a happy grin. Words were unnecessary for them; they both knew who had caught his eye after so long.

Cat's Diner was adorned in 50s-era decorations. Records with well-known song titles of that decade and photographs of famous faces were scattered around. On the walls were shelves that held up old toys and even miniature vintage cars. The servers were either greasers or pink ladies, hair slicked back or up in a ponytail. A jukebox on the other side of the room blasted out tune after tune as a small cluster of students and adults alike were cluttered into booths and seats with bright red cushions. Jean and Marco were led to a booth along the wall, the former taking their coats and placing them on the hanger that was attached to the post.

"This place really is adorable," the Californian smiled, gazing around the room in awe. "It's like you step through a time portal into the fifties and you don't get out until you leave."

"It's impressive so far," he observed before sitting down across from Marco. "It's more mellow than where I usually go, but for a first date, it's…nice." And he meant the words too; the atmosphere was calming, the music wasn't blaring, the chatter of customers wasn't disruptive to surrounding conversations. It was calming to simply sit and soak everything in.

Marco, previously gawking at the pictures and records hanging on the wall, whipped his head to look at Jean. "Do you remember when I first told you about my restaurant? How I was going to name it–"

"Robodt's because it sounds like 'robot'?"

"Yes! Because I thought we would have robots by the time we grew up." Marco, laughing joyfully, leaned back against the booth seat. "I always imagined it would be something like this—maybe not so retro, and maybe with different scenery on the walls. Like a different country for each section of the dining hall. It'd go from pagodas and samurai swords, and then it would transform into the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, and the Coliseum and Acropolis!" He sighed and rested his elbows on the table so he could place his chin in his hands. "It'll be beautiful, and the food will be amazing, and people will be happy. That's the best thing you can ever do for someone. Make them smile and laugh and be happy, away from the struggles they have in reality." The taller, smiling, looked over at Jean, their eyes locking and causing his heart to beat rapidly. "I think that to know something you did made someone happy is the best thing to ever happen—for you and for the other person. And then you just pay it forward until you can transform the world."

The musician didn't respond; he couldn't for two reasons. One involved the fact that the waiter came by to take their drinks and spout out the specials. The other was because there was no way that he could come up with an answer to something like that. Marco was always honest and genuine, as he always had been. The way he spoke, and wrote, was so natural with positivity, so pure with a real concern for others and hope for their success. It reminded Jean of how lucky he was to have him as a best friend, and how unfortunate he was to fall in love with him when he himself was nowhere close to any of those things.

"If you need any help with what to eat, I'd be glad to help you! This is a really cool place to hang out, especially after exams. The manager even gave us free milkshakes once!"

The musician was snapped out of his thinking from the speaking and a soft nudge against his foot. When he glanced up, it was to an offered menu and a soft rise of lips, and he took it with quiet thanks. No matter how much he delved into his thoughts, as focused on the Californian as they were, he could tell his brooding was having a negative effect on Marco. Jean wanted to express that he was enjoying the time they had spent together so far, but he struggled to come up with a way that wasn't as lame as simply saying it as it was.

"I, ah–fuck, um…" His fists curled on either side of the laminated menu, palms digging into the plastic and pressing against the soft skin there. "I really appreciate what you're, uh…doing. By taking me out and…stuff."

"Oh, you're welcome! I'm happy you're enjoying yourself. I want you to feel happy, because you…" Marco shrugged, as if there was nothing to worry about. "You deserve that the most."

Jean would have continued on further; truly, he would have, and with something more intelligent as well. But he was stopped by the mocking laughter of two boys, no older than twelve, seated a few tables away from them. They faced Marco's back, so he was oblivious to their actions until he must have noticed Jean's distracted gaze and followed it. The boys hadn't noticed that they had been found out, for their heads were bowed and they seemed submerged in their own world, changing their voices to match the two college students and then cackling at the mimic with cruel words. The Californian turned back around with a frown and put his focus back on the menu with painfully obvious discouragement. It was upsetting to see how such childish kids were able to create a reaction like this. His heart twinged, and his stomach clenched, and he huffed. “Assholes. Why do twelve-year-olds have to suck?”

Marco shrugged weakly, as if he was trying to hide himself within raised shoulders. “They’re just kids. They’re doing what kids do.”

“Kids like that don’t do the shit that they’re doing.”

“Really, it’s nothing to worry about. They’ll stop eventually.”

Jean couldn’t help but stare at him as if he had lost his mind. As someone who took action rather than sitting idly by waiting for something to occur, he acted upon his decisions with a critical analysis of the situation. And this time was not unlike the others; despite the question and alarmed tone of his friend behind him, the musician stood and strode over to the kids. He could practically feel the worried gaze boring into him, and if looks could kill, he would surely have been destroyed by that point. Nevertheless, it was in his nature to take action regardless of the judgment he would receive, especially when a frown like that appeared on someone who deserved the best.

"Do you think it's funny to laugh at two guys out on a date?" He asked them, watching their eyes widen and their jaws drop. The natural intensity of amber that he possessed must have been specifically accented when he spoke, for the fear on their faces was startling. "Because I don't see what's so funny about it. It's just as natural as is it for you two to be jerks. And we're having fun at our own expense, not at the expense of others who are just here to have a good time. So do us all a favor and leave us alone. If you want to grow up, you should learn some respect for others before you wind up failing and ending up on the side of the road with a bottle of alcohol and a cart full of trash that's just as smelly and disgusting as you two."

And with that, leaving the cowardly two behind, he went to use the bathroom. He didn't bother to look for Marco's reaction, for he could already tell, and feel, that it was on him. His actions would surely be questioned, and he already knew what to say.

When he returned, the Californian was toying with a bent corner of his menu, silently staring at the still-full bread basket in the center of the table. Thankfully, the two kids had quieted down considerably, heads bowed and completely silent. Jean made no special flourish or indication of his return; he simply plopped back down in his seat, opened his menu again, and casually asked, "Do you know if the grilled chicken wrap is any good?"

"What did you say to the kids over there?" Marco asked, his voice quiet and calm.

"I asked you first."

Chocolate eyes glanced up at him, still lingering with hurt and sadness, but he nodded nonetheless. "Yeah, I've heard it's good. I know people who have gotten it and they liked it."

"Hmm. Good to know." He shut the menu, placed it on the table, and sighed. Marco still hadn't moved his gaze from him, and he could feel the confused tension lingering between them. "I told them to back off, and that they would end up as a hobo if they didn't start respecting others."

"You called them 'trash'?"

"Indirectly, but yeah, I called them 'trash'. Look, I don't give a shit if they make fun of me or not, but if they start making fun of or upsetting you, it's a whole different story. And I'm not gonna sit back and let anyone do just that. I want you to feel happy because you deserve that the most."

The repeated phrase, said by Marco and now used against him, caught him by surprise. He inhaled sharply, and his worried expression melted into contentment and admiration. His eyes of hazelnut were warmer than ever in the dim light that hung overhead, and his smile just as much. "Thank you." The words were in such a careful whisper, so soft and so delicate, it was a wonder he was even able to be heard.

When their server came by and took their orders for their meal, and when their feet entangled together underneath the table, Jean realized that there was no one better to fall in love with than Marco Bodt.

Dinner had been an enjoyable experience, and their conversations never paused unless by the waiter. They shared a slice of pie that had a name they couldn't remember nor pronounce due to the flow of conversation. It was simple yet overflowing with surprises, from impersonations to comical tales from the past that he had momentarily forgotten. Marco was even able to convince Jean to speak French (as long as Marco would speak Italian in return, to which the Virginian nearly melted at the smooth syllables and clear accent that punctured the words). And when they left, it was no different; they talked just as much walking through Trost and gazing in shop windows, laughed just as loud, and smiled just as often. The duo had created a separate world for only themselves, preserved and unbreakable by their time together.

Eren informed him via text that the rest of them would be back in a few hours' time. It was disappointing to hear, since it also meant that their time alone together would be cut short, but they would have tomorrow as well. They had already made plans for the chef to come over to Fiji and hang out.

"So we have a few more hours to ourselves," Jean said as he returned his phone to his pocket. "What do you want to do until then?"

“I didn't really plan this far ahead,” the taller laughed gently, almost sheepishly. “I figured we can just walk around for a while more, or we can head back to Greek Row."

The musician hummed quietly. “You choose where we go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I trust you. Take the reins and lead us somewhere.”

"Mm…well, reins are accurate because you need that for horses, right?"

"Ha ha ha, you are so funny, Robodt. I'm dying from laughter."

Marco, grinning wide from his joke, paused for a brief moment before he answered, this time with a genuine smile. "Where do you keep your letters?"

x-x-x

After starting a fire in the pit that was in the backyard, huddled together in fluffy blankets and crumbs from the s'mores they made, Jean took out the rectangular tin box from under his seat and set it in his lap. For a while now, the only sound between them had been the crackles and pops of the fire. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but one that was warm and peaceful instead. He wouldn’t have minded either way; any moment he spent with his best friend was one that he loved unconditionally and cherished dearly. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be the same situation.

Jean slowly pried the lid off and discarded the letters gently in between his crossed legs. He clutched onto the folded slips of paper, indented with curves and lines that he had read a numerous amount of times. The last time he had read them, he had been trying to convince himself that Marco Bodt, the vegan from California, was a real person and not a fairy tale character he had dreamed up. He could feel eyes of gentle hazelnut gazing at him patiently, wavering between eye contact and the letters as he drummed his fingers against the outline. “These are it,” he sighed before he looked at the freckled chef.

Marco nodded slowly, his line of sight now on the papers that he had written years ago. “How many of them are there?”

His face red, the Virginian cleared his throat and looked in the opposite direction. “Err, all of them. This is, ah… This is all of them.”

At first, the crackling of the flames erupted between the duo, and reflected light onto any nearby surfaces. Long, thin fingers reached up and ran a hand carefully along the edges of the paper before he tapped on the top of the one closest to him. “May I read one?”

Loosening his grasp, Jean took up the letter he had indicated and handed it to him. All of Marco’s letters had been kept in the tin box that he had found when exploring the basement. Its placement in his room varied throughout the years, but it never left his sight, nor his reach. If he couldn’t touch it within arm’s length and walking distance, he deemed it too far away for him, even when he got tall enough to reach high shelves. After high school graduation and into college, the box never left his nightstand, even to that day.

The Californian had barely opened the letter before he folded it back up and reached over to the seat beside them. “Hold on—I want to do this together.”

The two-toned-haired male was confused by the words, at first, but understood what he meant as soon as he was handed a folded slip of paper of his own. Already, without even opening the sheet, he could see his terrible penmanship, with crossed T’s that nearly punctured through the paper and the folded top right-hand corner, something that he would continue to do for their future letters. When he took it, he was nearly overcome with déjà vu: sitting in his room, only eight years old, at the new desk he had gotten, leaning so close to the ruled lines that he was sure his eyelashes had brushed against the paper, excitement clouding his mind and his movements. Even reliving the memory gave him a rush of adrenaline, a reminder of what it had been like to start a relationship that would last for an entire decade.

With a shared confirmed glance, they opened the folds and peered at the letter they had written to one another twelve years ago. Almost instantly, Marco was laughing quietly, a sentimental smile on his face and a nostalgic spark in his eyes. “‘Dear Jean hello’,” he shook his head. “I’ve gotten better at writing letters since then, I promise.”

Jean returned the grin, chuckling as he skimmed over the contents of his own letter. “It’s not as bad as spelling ‘omelet’ wrong.”

“Oh come on, you were eight! It’s not like you said you wanna be a chef and your favorite food is 'spaghetti pasta'!”

“That’s a totally different story.”

“Alright then, Mister _Gene_ -ius Kirschtein. Tell me how it’s different then.”

“Because ‘spaghetti pasta’ is cuter than fucking misspelling shit–and that’s not my name, you dork!”

Marco tried to keep a serious expression, but he was unable to hold it and broke out into giggles. “Being cuter is not a reasonable argument.”

“If your name is Marco _Boat_ , then it is.”

“That’s not even close!” The dark-haired male shoved the other playfully before he pulled out another letter, this time randomly from his stack. “Alright, new one!”

Jean, still laughing, did the same as Marco had, and unfolded the letter. He snorted once he read the first few lines, and tapped his fingers along the margin. "Summer of 2005. We started playing 'I Spy' in this one.” He could distinctly recall when he had responded that letter, wracking his brain around to figure out a good enough answer for his friend. It felt like that moment had been a thousand years ago.

Marco hummed in acknowledgment, a serious expression on his face as he read the next letter. “This was early on in high school. When we started to talk about sexuality and stuff.” His eyes skimmed the top of the paper once more before he laughed, gentle and quiet. “‘I kissed Connie today. I told him it was because my lips were cold, and I wanted to warm them up. But really, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t falling in love with my best friend’… You know, when I first read that it made me a little sad inside.”

With a raised eyebrow, Jean stopped his search through the pack of letters that sat upright in the tin box, head tilted slightly to the side. “Why? I wasn’t falling in love with him or anything. What was so sad about it?”

“Because I thought that you didn’t want to fall in love with your best friend.”

Oh. The Virginian sat up from his leaned position, hands slack and resting lightly on his thighs. Never would he have thought that something like that, something so small and briefly mentioned, would weigh down the freckled male so much. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t thinking when I wrote that, and I should have said it way better than I had—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Marco, alarm plastered on his face, shook his head and grasped Jean’s forearm. “I wasn’t holding it against you, I swear! I was just talking!”

“Yeah, but… Fuck, Marco, I…” The shorter huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I kissed Connie because I didn’t know if being gay meant that I would be attracted to him. And Connie–dammit, Mar, he sucked as a kisser. I mean we were sophomores, but damn. I never want to kiss a straight man as long as I’m alive.” Marco laughed, causing Jean to return the smile, as faint as it was, presented to him. “I was naive and dumb then, and I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t have to decide between a vegan chef in California and a bald-headed photographer a few blocks away from me. And if I had to…I don’t know what I would have done.”

By the time Jean had finished, a small yet dopey smile was on the Californian’s face. Whether it was for the confession that had been made, or the words spoken, he wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was the fact that he had caused that expression, and it filled his stomach with butterflies that ran along the perimeter.

The duo returned to what they were doing before Marco gestured to a letter in his hands. “Look at this, another one from sophomore year. ‘Dear Marco hello, I just wanted to tell you that I am really gay for you’–—

“Alright, that’s not even funny, you nerd!”

“Wait, I’m not done reading it! ‘Your freckles are so cute, and you are the best person ever. Please go out with me!’”

As he had read what had been “written”, Jean pulled out a letter of his own and opened it just as quickly. It took a few searches, but he eventually found the one he wanted and smirked in triumph. “‘Dear Jean hello, we might be going to the capital of California soon. I heard that San Francisco is really nice, but really hilly too. Have you ever been to the capital of Virginia? Or Washington D.C.?’”

The Californian laughed albeit in confusion. “Using my mistake of San Francisco being the capital? Rude best friend; I was like,” he stole a quick glance at the paper, and calculated his age in his head, “I was fourteen.”

“Well now that you mention it, it is a little questionable that you didn’t know the capital of your own state—”

“Sacramento isn’t even a cool city, come on! At least I didn’t think it was Los Angeles!”

“But I chose it because,” Jean pointed a finger at the closing of the letter, right above where he signed his name. “‘Your gay best friend, Marco.’”

At first, Marco stared at the phrase, silent yet thinking until realization crossed his face and he gasped. “You jerky jerk! I was _fourteen_!”

“And a nerd, apparently.”

“At least I made up what I said—you used my own tactics against me!”

“All is fair in love and war.”

“I’ll show _you_ war, Jerkstein.”

For the next hour and a half, the duo read letter after letter: to each other, from one another, passing back and forth yet keeping track of them. They mocked their mistakes from their younger years, laughed over their older ones, from memories to grammar mistakes to questionable stains, even the writing materials they used. Fiji had returned sometime during the night, but even the small interruption wasn’t enough to bring the boisterous, joyful ambiance down. However, it didn’t last long, as the last letter Marco was given was one that affected him enough to the point of complete silence. When the musician leaned over to see what he was reading, the question halfway out of his mouth, he noticed the date, and frowned. Long, spindly fingers enclosed around freckled knuckles, not to pull the letter away but as a reassurance. No eye contact was required to know or see what was being thought.

“You know what this is, right?”

“Yeah.” There was nothing much to say. It had been a month before their conversations were cut short. “‘Dear Marco hello, I’m graduating as sixth in my class. I feel like I just solved the problem to world hunger. Earen got number five, that piece of shit, but it’s only because he cheated off of me for all of the tests we’ve taken.’ God I was a dick in high school.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“Now you’re just being nice.” Amber met hazelnut, and the distance between them was unintentionally close, enough to make them cross-eyed for a brief moment. Jean wasn’t sure what Marco was thinking, but he was determined to bring the conversation away from the touchy subject in the easiest way he knew how. “That’s reason one for why you shouldn’t date me. Because I’m the rudest dickfuck you will ever meet.”

“That’s not true.” The Californian kept his resolve in expression, but the small waver in his voice was one that was difficult to hide. His words had definitely taken him by surprise, and not in a good way. “If you were such a dick, then you would have no one. But you have someone—Jean, you have _someones_. There are eleven of us who see you as a friend. Maybe some more than others, but friends nonetheless. Any of that is enough to prove that you aren’t as bad as you see yourself.”

The fact that the freckled male had said that to him was nearly enough to break the collected resolve Jean owned, and he could already feel the water pricking his eyes. With the letters and tin box forgotten between them, he pulled Marco close to him and buried his face into his shoulders to restrain himself, inhaling the scent of vanilla to calm his senses. The dark-haired male didn’t respond back with words. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him for a firm hug and tugged him even closer, the sound of his heart beating gently in his chest. It was enough to quiet the two-toned-haired male, to soothe him down enough to even breathing and misty eyes, to bring him away from his breaking point and to a calmer state. It reminded Jean about how he and Marco went so well together, and the explanations of why they couldn’t be together, and he wasn’t sure what was more startling to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are minor characters from the Shakespearean play "Hamlet". In 1966, Tom Stoppard made a play called" Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead", which follows their adventure around and is apparently hilarious. I've never read it myself, but I've seen bits and pieces of it, and I couldn't get the image of Eld and Gunther with "Rosencrantz" and "Guildenstern" tattoos out of my head.


	11. Cooking and Convincing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Saturday, another time to read about some nerds. Or not, I guess. Because free will and freedom.
> 
> I don't really know what to do with this chapter except deal with it and simply love the BrOTP that is Jean and Connie
> 
> You are splendid.

“You made stirring sound so much harder than it actually is.”

“Just wait until you have to add to it; you’ll regret saying that.”

“Oooh, wow, I’m terrified. Putting meat and basil into a sauce! I’m shaking in my socks!”

“Rude best friend. You’ll be sorry when it tastes bad.”

Because Jean's punishment required him to miss out on the homecoming game as well, he was once again home, cooking pasta and a sauce to accompany it while the football game played on the television. The chef had decided to stay the night to make the transition to Fiji easier in the morning. That and he didn’t want to disturb his roommates, as it was nearly two in the morning when they had stopped talking, too tired to form proper sentences. No one questioned either of them, and had even offered for Marco to stay over. His roommates were surprisingly tame when they left for the football game, and accompanied their temporary farewells with a minor suggestion of the location of the condoms that caused both Marco and Jean to blush and look away.

“It smells really good at least,” Jean observed as Marco once again tossed a dash of green flakes into the sauce that bubbled with life.  

"And it'll taste really good," the taller added, pouring a box of pasta noodles into the boiling pot of water he was watching over.

"You sure about that?"

"Nope."

He snorted under his breath. "We're just guessing?"

"That's sorta how cooking goes: you gotta be confident that it tastes good and isn't gonna be gross."

"You can taste it, still, right?"

"Oh yeah, of course! There's always that! But sometimes, especially with meats or stuff in the oven, it's hard to taste when it's ready, so you can't rely on that sense."

"Mm. Bet that's a difficult thing when you're vegan and cook with animal products."

"Yeah, basically!" Marco searched the countertop with a flitting gaze, and frowned momentarily. "Do you know where the potatoes are?"

Jean glanced over at the counter, and spotted them, hidden in a large ceramic bowl. "Yeah, they're right—" A loud clang, followed by the sizzling of water against the burner, brought their attention from the vegetables to the pots. Both the sauce and the boiling pot of pasta had been knocked over by the Virginian; he supposed it came from his leaning over to grab the vegetables. While trying to stir the sauce, combined with the slight shift of his body, the pot was pulled down and, therefore, tumbled onto the ground. The pasta that Marco had previously been watching had also been knocked into, from a forceful enough push from the sauce pot that sent it spilling out on the counter. The scarlet food barely missed falling onto Jean's foot, but some had managed to get onto his hand, as his grasp with the spoon had pulled down the pot in the first place, burning his wrist in the process and causing a surprised cry to elicit from him.

"Well," the Californian situated the pasta pot upright and sighed, "we tried at least?"

Jean grimaced as he put his sauce-stained wrist under running water, the sink thankfully directly across from the stove; "Oh yeah, totally. Everything's alright, as long as we tried?"

"I wasn't trying t—"

"I know, I know. I'm just being bitchy." He gestured to his scorching wrist, slowly turning a blotchy red against his skin. "This just hurts."

Marco stepped closer to him, avoiding the mess as he did, and inspected his injury. He disappeared upstairs for a moment and came back with some aloe and bandages. Jean, drying his wrist off, had started to protest, to say it was unnecessary, but a soothing grasp, the palm callused and the fingers gentle, clutched the middle of his forearm, and he quieted immediately. The aroma of their fallen cooking attempt reminded him of its presence, and offered a window for small talk.

"It really does smell good," he murmured as the cool aloe was lathered onto the burn.

The dark-haired male chuckled. "That's true," he smiled. "You did a good job."

"Thanks, Mom."

Another laugh, followed up by a comfortable silence. Even then, however, Jean found it as a way for him to make up for his failed attempt at cooking despite his inability to express how he felt.

"You know, I've always had bad luck with cooking. I never really do it unless it's something simple."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. I've never been able to cook something without hurting myself or ruining it in the process."

The gauze wrapped around the burn, firm and protective. "Well, at least you're keeping up the tradition."

The shorter laughed quietly; "Yeah; I still have that to be proud of."

Marco sealed the bandage and eyed his work in satisfaction. Jean wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not, but a pair of lips that were not his own landed on his injury, flipping his stomach and sending a blush to his face. An equally red face confirmed the chef's shock of his actions, but he turned away quickly and picked up the fallen pot.

"We should clean this up before the others get home. Where's a mop?"

"It's, uhh, next to the fridge. In the crack between the wall and…yeah. I'll get the, ah, water? Water-pasta? Yeah."

The duo worked in silence, one mopping the floor of the spilled sauce and the other wiping down the counter and discarding the barely-cooked pasta. It was clear from the atmosphere that surrounded them that the kiss Marco had applied to the bandages had flustered them and taken them by surprise. Jean had wanted to say something, to thank him, to ask for another, to do something to end the tension. But a new plan, a pack he found on the kitchen table, distracted him from that thought.

"Do you wanna just…make popcorn and watch Netflix or something?"

The Californian glanced over at him as he put the mop back, and he nodded, a smile appearing on his face. "Yeah. That sounds nice."

“Butter or no?”

“Whichever is fine. Surprise me.”

Jean (who assured the other of his ability to make popcorn, of all things) prepared their snack while Marco gathered pillows and blankets together downstairs. He was halfway through in making their pillow fort, held up by the couch and its seat cushions, when the musician appeared with food in hand. “Surprise: we only had regular, but I found some M&Ms to go along with it.”

“That’s fine!” The Californian poked his head out from the entrance, his expression synonymous with that of a young schoolboy who has just received his Christmas presents. “Do you like our house?”

 _Our house._ The words struck a chord in Jean, and as he sat down beside his friend, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if they actually had a house together. “I think it’s beautiful. How much do you want for it?”

Marco laughed; “Just some popcorn and some companionship.”

“I can do that.”

“Good!” The television had already been turned on, as they had been listening to the football game taking place not too far away from where they were, but it now showed the Netflix menu. “What should we watch?”

“Anything but a rom-com, please.”

“Mm, those aren’t always so good, are they?”

“Exactly.”

“‘101 Dalmatians’?”

“Really?”

“It’s a great movie! _Cruella Deville~ Cruella Deville!_ "

"Oh God, please no."

" _If she doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will~_ ”

“Alright, alright, play it already!”

“Awesome!”

They dove into the movie with a friendly atmosphere despite Jean's reluctance. Both of them had seen the movie before, and their small comments back and forth were met with little to no irritation. Marco was especially animated, stating his desire to one day have a Dalmatian named Cruella but also mocking the musician for his likeness with the villain ("Always so grumpy, always so pretty. How do you do it, Jean?"). Though the Virginian knew he had nothing to hide either; he had already promised to mimic Roger's piano playing when Cruella visits. The duo got so wound up in their conversation that they didn't realize the movie had ended, and, eventually, that the rest of Fiji had returned until a pair of legs appeared in front of the entrance.

“Nice fort,” Reiner commented as he tapped the top gently. His touch, despite how slight it had been, caused the blanket to cave in and promptly droop onto their heads.

"Thanks, Rye," Jean grumbled.

"I worked so hard on this," Marco pouted as they struggled to free themselves. They only crossed paths once, noses close and lips only a breath apart, but they moved back quickly enough to cover it up easily. The Californian escaped first, and then helped Jean stand back up again as well. "How was the game?"

"Same as last year: we barely won," Eren informed him.

"Oh no–it didn't go into overtime, did it?"

"Thankfully not. But it did. I thought the point of homecoming was to make the games easy to play."

"At least we won," Jean pointed out.

"Eh. I guess so."

“Hey Jean, what happened to your hand?” Connie wondered, pointing at said wrist.

The two-toned-haired male shot him a glare. “What happened to your face? Oh wait, it’s already like that. My bad.”

The shorter scowled and pulled on his arm. “Shut up, we need to talk." His mouth was in a thin line at his words, and the impatience was blaring on his expression. Jean had little time to be angry with him or react very much as he was pulled along on his good hand. “ _Now_ , Jay, c’mon!”

“Gimme a sec, Con!” He snapped, shoving the bald male’s hands away from him.

“Hurry up, old man, we gotta get moving! We’re going to Starbucks to get something to eat and drink. I wanna beat the traffic from the game, because apparently, no one took a driver’s ed course, and no one understands that when red means stop and green is go!”

With a grumbled threat that held zero geniality, the musician stuffed his feet into his sneakers and grabbed his hoodie from the back of a kitchen chair. He grabbed onto Connie’s hood and tugged him behind him to the front door. “Hope you have your keys—your idea, you’re driving.”

Jean and Connie, along with Sasha, had been best friends since pre-K, when they played family with a cardboard house and a kitchen that had no fake food whatsoever. For the years after that, they shared classes and play dates together; the teachers that had them the grade before would warn the others about the troublemaking trio. They had their share of fights–from a jealous Sasha destroying Jean's science fair project to a convinced Connie that the two would abandon him–but they managed to get through the storms with one another by their side. They supported one another when there was no one else around, taking late night drives to Taco Bell when their sadness was too strong for simple cures, or sharing Tostitos scoops and half a jar of salsa to celebrate not failing the previous school year. And when the rest of their friends went through self-discovery paths in tenth grade and Sasha was driven down a path of drugs and crime, Connie and Jean were there for each other with chick flicks and a six-pack of Mug Root Beer. For a while, it was believed they were dating, when in actuality, one was head-over-heels for a goofy brunette with a never-ending appetite, and the other had fallen head-first for a vegan chef whom he had never met face-to-face. When it came down to the “best bro”, Connie and Jean could look at one another and trust him with his life.

Rose Wall Park, named after one of the founders of Trost, was split into two parts: one side was a playground for children of all ages, disability or not; and the other was for simple walks and fishing. It was the former side that Connie pulled up to, Starbucks in hand, as they got out of the car and made their way to the jungle gym. Luckily, there were few kids that were out in the nippy weather, and so they were free to climb onto the multi-colored playground, sitting under the red roof across from one another. It had been a tradition of theirs to hide away when their families were too much for them to handle, and they needed a break from them. When they moved to Trost for college, they found three parks—Maria, Rose, and Sina—for them to break away from the books and the financial pressure they were faced with.

Connie waited for him to get settled, both taking a few sips of their drinks or a bite from the snacks they had gotten. The bald musician smacked his lips and stared at the space between their feet before he made eye contact with the taller. "I gotta hand it to you, Jean—you are the most ridiculous individual I have ever met."

Jean only snorted in response, sipping at his coffee once more with an amused smirk. "Thanks for dragging me out of the house on a Saturday afternoon to tell me something I've heard a million times before."

"It's not my fault you can't fucking grow a pair and just ask someone out."

At first, the musician was silent, his mouth a thin line of annoyance and fury that must have shocked the other permanently into silence. However, once he was able to gain his bearings, he started to stand with a gripe. "Okay, I'm done, I'm leaving. See ya, Con."

Connie almost immediately clutched onto him and pulled on his arm to sit him down; "Like hell you're leaving early. I'm not letting you get out of this so easily. It's my job to talk to you about what's going on."

"Your job?"

"If you sit down and fucking _listen_ , you won't be confused."

Jean glared with narrowed eyes, amber locked with caramel, before the taller finally slid back down to his previous spot with a huff. Connie knew him far too well at this rate, it might as well have been illegal for so much knowledge to be possessed. "Alright. Since you're forcing me to stay. Spill, baldy."

The shorter snorted; "Man you're an ass today. First you snapped at Armin for no reason–"

"I have a reasonable defense for that."

"Eren doesn't count."

"Since when does he not count?"

"No digressing, Muffin Top."

"Use that name again, and I'll crack your arm in half and shove it up your ass."

Connie, with a roll of his eyes, glowered at his best friend, "We—meaning the guys and AOPi—were talking at the game during halftime, and decided that you need to grow up and get Marco for yourself before someone else takes him away from you again." Jean started to laugh as soon as he had finished, and leaned forward, clutching his stomach. "Why are you—what's so funny?!"

The musician waved at the other, waiting until he had caught his breath to speak. "You're going to give me relationship advice. You, who can't even ask his best friend out because he's afraid of getting rejected when he _knows_ she likes him back–"

"Oh my God—if I asked her, I'd get nervous and fuck up and then she'll hate me forever!"

"What grade are you in, fourth? Sasha won't give a shit if you fuck up! She'll know it's genuine because you're asking her and it's not staged. And it's not a lame sixth grade proposal with Ring Pops and a crushed bag of Smarties."

"Don't even talk about that, man, that was the best goddamn proposal and you know it."

"Still doesn't change the fact that you can lose her just as easily as I can lose Marco."

"Jay—"

"Just like you did in high school to Alex Vancoven."

The conversation was put to a stop when Connie's fist collided with Jean's face, and made contact with his jaw and nose. The topic of Sasha's high school relationships and lifestyle was one the troupe of friends had trouble talking about. It reminded them of their mistake to attempt to stop talking to one another as they tried to figure out who they were. Connie had never been able to take the issue, in regards to Sasha, lightly. He hated the fact that he couldn't ask her out, and he hated the fact that a jerk like Alex Vancoven had been able to hold feelings for Sasha and date her.

It took a few napkins found in the glove compartment of their car, a juice box (that the shorter, for some reason, had in his jacket pocket), and the meanest stare the two-toned haired male could muster before the shorter asked his question. It was an unnecessary part of the conversation, for the answer was already known.

"Do you love Marco?"

Jean didn't waste a second in answering him. "With all of me."

"Then take him for yourself before he's holding hands with someone that's not you." The taller started to speak, but Connie raises his hand. "Let me finish, and then you can talk, okay? Hear me out. You and Marco have something that no one else has. Hell, you've been friends with him for just as long as we have. Marco is, let's be honest, pretty attractive—if I was gay, I would date him. And I think that one day, there's going to be someone who won't be afraid to make the first move, and who knows what will happen then? Marco could go after him, or turn him down. It's a 50-50 chance and we don't know which way it can go.

"Not only that, but there is no one else who is more perfect for you than him. I love you to death, Jay, but you're a selfish asshole—don't give me that look, you know you are. Everyone does. But Marco doesn't look at you for that. He loves the bad things about you just as much as he loves the good. You're funny, you're…honest, you play music really well—you're loyal as hell when you don't think about yourself. And you probably think you're this pompous asshole who does whatever he wants, and you're right. But that's not all of you. That's not all there is to you. And you’re lucky enough to have someone like Marco see that and separate it from everything else.”

Jean waited a moment for the words to sink in, for them to spin around in his head continuously until he knew them back and forth. If there was one thing he had always loved about Connie, it was his ability to keep true to those he called friends and who he was as a person. He was the poster child for breaking away from his family’s biased views, standing up on his own two feet, and staying true to what he believed in without anyone manipulating his choices. "Who put you up to this?"

"Bert and I were talking about it during halftime today, but Reiner and Eren suggested it. They should be talking to Marco about the same thing right about now."

"Huh. And they sent you to me because you're the only one who would be able to get through to me?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, I volunteered to do it _because_ I can get through to you, and everyone else agreed, so…"

"…they're right, at least."

"Heh, see? This wasn't so bad, right?"

"Depends on how you look at it." Jean fixed the napkin he held against his nose, this time dabbing it under his nostrils continuously. "I mean, we both like each other, but…I've never had to deal with this before. Neither of us have. I've only asked out Mikasa and Sasha before, and both of those were unrequited. And flirting doesn't count, I'm pretty sure. Marco and I are the most inexperienced platonic couple that has ever loved."

"That's alright, man. I don't have a due date for that sorta stuff. As long as it's not, y'know…in a thousand years or something, then I'm chill."

"So by Thanksgiving, we should be dating is what you're saying."

"If you put it like that, then yes."

"Which is a due date."

"Did I ever say it had to be by Thanksgiving?"

"Yes."

"Lie."

With a hum and a pause, Jean picked up his drink and raised it between them. "Alright then. By Thanksgiving. A month. I can do that."

Connie knocked his drink against his, and took a sip before he smiled. "I believe in you. You'll do good. You guys work well for each other."

"Thanks."

"And hey—maybe, if you're lucky, he'll ask you out first."

"I appreciate your support, Aslan."

"Who?"

"The King of Narnia."

"Oh—ha ha, you're so funny. You should be a comedian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Since Connie is the only guy in Fiji who's straight, they like to joke that he's been in the closet for so long, he's become the King of Narnia, aka Aslan.


	12. Costumes and Treats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a new chapter on the birthday of everyone's favorite bald monkey, Connie Springer. Keep on nerding on, Con Man.
> 
> ***WARNING: There is drug use and mention in the next chapter. I do not recommend the use of drugs, especially before a children's Halloween event.***
> 
> We're getting closer to that point. What point, you may ask? 
> 
> :)
> 
> You are magnificent.

_Halloween  
_ _11 hours, 30 minutes remaining_

Halloween was a chaotic mess of make-up kits and costumes that would only be used for a year yet were outrageously expensive. For Stohess University, it was an eventful October afternoon of trick-or-treat hosting for the neighborhood kids, and late night parties full of alcohol, "candy", and a party that started at nine and continued until the students felt the need to end it. The tradition was still strong, especially after so many years of its original starting date. Greek Life especially participated, being the host of the party and giving out candy to trick-or-treaters. Each paired fraternity and sorority also matched costumes for the occasion to make it more interesting, as well as entertaining.

"It feels like my arms are suffocating," Jean grimaced as he tugged on the tan-orange coat, emblazoned with a pair of wings on the back and upper arms. It didn't close over his chest yet it fit him well to an extent. There was an uncomfortable stiffness in the sleeves, and the belts and buckles that accompanied it, draping all over his body, were frustrating to figure out and put on. Connie and Sasha were fully dressed, the buckles and belts on correctly while they blasted various soundtracks of musicals and fed each other Twizzlers, trying to whip the red vines into each other's mouth.

"Maybe you should have worn it when we told you to instead of flirting with your boyfriend," Sasha pointed out.

"I was not flirting with him. And he's not my boyfriend either."

"Yet," Connie added.

Jean glared at him; "Do you wanna go there? Because I can if you want to."

The bald male flipped him off with a scowl. “That piece you’re holding goes on your lower back, jackass.”

“How does it go—”

“You’re hopeless,” Annie said from the doorway, arms crossed. Her costume was on, but unlike the others, who all had the pair of wings, hers had a green unicorn. The store they had ordered it from were out of her size, and that was the one she had chosen instead.

"Well then you show me!" The musician, abandoning the back plate, struggled on one leg to pull on one pair of the multiple parts, but it failed to straighten out properly.

"You can figure it out." She gazed over at the duo feeding each other Twizzler's. "Reiner's looking for those, by the way."

"Cover for us," Connie stated, trying to toss one for Sasha to catch with her mouth.

"I would if it hadn't been my money. And if I cared enough." She ripped the bag out of his hand and left without saying anything else.

"Jean, you need to twist it a certain way," Sasha spoke up, slightly saddened by the loss of her snack but standing up to help Jean. The taller, however, swatted her hands away.

"I got it!"

From the hallway, a cheerful voice spoke up in what must have been in passing to the short blond. "Wow, Annie, your jacket looks really nice!"

The brunette glanced from the hallway to the door, and smirked knowingly. Jean glanced up at her, finally figuring out how to properly put on the belts for the leg. He knew that look, and he knew that voice, and his stomach twisted with nerves. "Don't say a fucking word, Potato Girl."

Sasha frowned and stamped her foot. "That was one time! Why do you even remember that?!"

Marco entered the room, and instantly burst into laughter. "You look so funny!" His costume—similar to that of an infamous Disney villain—was accurate to the last detail. Jean didn't know who had made it, but he gave credit to whoever had. The clothes, both in style and in material, fit the freckled male well, even if the character wasn't all that good.

Despite this, he huffed and scowled, tugging harder on the twirling belts around his legs. "Shut up, I'm doing the best I can."

"Well it's not a very good job." The Pike sat down beside him and, after removing the orange jacket, adjusted the set of belts spread on his back. "You should have read the instructions more carefully."

"Oh yeah, let me take time to learn Japanese in forty minutes. I can do it!" A quick pinch landed on his backside. The musician, hand already covering the area protectively, glared over his shoulder at a smirking Marco.

“Your sarcasm is unappreciated,” the freckled male stated.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic; I was being honest.” Once the buckles were firmly and securely on his back, Marco went to work on the belt portion. His hands skimmed Jean's sides, and the Virginian had to bite down on his lower lip to prevent his laughter from coming out. They both knew (and had remembered) his most ticklish spots, and it was a slight shock the chef didn't take advantage of his opportunity. Though there was hardly any chance the musician would mention it.

"You know you can tickle him, right Marocco?"

Connie, on the other hand, refused to miss an opportunity such as this.

Marco chuckled, “Yeah, I know. But I’m not going to.”

“You should,” Sasha pointed out.

“Maybe. But then he won’t get his costume on, and we’ll forget about everything else but what we’re supposed to do.”

“Aww. You’re no fun.” A small pause, the brunette rifling through a bag of popcorn now. “Your costume looks really good.”

“Thanks! Mina made it–or the actual clothing part, at least. She let me make the hat.”

“Y’know, even though he’s evil, Facilier’s costume really suits you,” the bald male pointed out.

“I look good in purple!”

 _More than you will ever know_ , Jean thought to himself–thankfully not out loud. “Did you pick it from a hat, or did you choose it?” He wondered.

“We picked it from a hat, but Franz and Hannah really wanted to be the King and Queen of Hearts from ‘Alice in Wonderland’, so we let them do that. If we had chosen, I think I would have done Jafar.”

“He’s such an asshole though!” Sasha frowned.

“Jafar is lame,” Connie huffed. “He doesn’t even have any special superpowers.”

“He has a staff that hypnotizes people!” Marco protested. “That’s not cool enough?”

“That’s not a superpower!”

“Scar doesn’t have one, the Queen of Hearts doesn’t have one—”

“She doesn’t count because she’s in Wonderland.”

“That’s a lame excuse!”

“You’re a lame excuse!”

“Well Disney villains are still cool, even though they’re evil!”

“Is that why you guys chose it?” Jean spoke up then, unwilling to resist the chance he had to poke fun at Pike. Whenever Marco was over, both he and Fiji couldn’t help but make fun of the other’s fraternity. It was without malice, and all in good fun, even the more raunchy comments that even made the reserved and polite Bertolt laugh.

The Californian scoffed at that, and before Jean could even think of an escape, he was being pulled back down and tickled relentlessly. He was unable to hold back his laughter then, clutching his sides and writhing on the covers. Connie and Sasha were saying something, but he was too focused on protecting himself from lithe fingers and quick movements to figure out what they were saying.

"Marco, please–w, wait!" He shoved his hands away as best he could, and sighed in relief once he was able to hold the Pike back. Their hands were interlocked, fingers tangled between the other's, pushing palm against palm. Jean was too focused on steadying his breathing to care more than it was necessary about it. "Look, Marco. I didn't do anything to you so don't do anything to me, alright?"

"Can you be more specific?" Marco stuck his tongue out, still trying to pry his hands free to continue with his tickling.

"You're an ass."

"I try not to be! Maybe you just need to stop being so butthurt."

"I'm not butthurt."

"Mmm, maybe a little."

"Not really."

"There's a little bit of vinegar there."

"Fine." With a scoff, Jean removed their hands from their locked positions to grab Marco's hat off his head and plop it on his own. "This is mine now."

"No—Jean, come on!" The Californian attempted to reach it, but only managed to brush the rim. "Jean, please!"

“I’ve got friends on the other side, Mar. Bam!”

"Hey, when you assholes are done flirting, you can come downstairs and help us get ready for the kids."

Hearing Eren's voice suddenly appear from seemingly nowhere brought the mood of the room down for Jean. He understood why he could be so bossy, as he had been given the role as captain for Fiji, but it didn't justify his actions regardless. And it didn't help much when he used terminology that wasn't true.

"We're not flirting," Jean pointed out.

Eren rolled his eyes. "Well then whatever you're doing: quit it and get downstairs."

"Who died and made you king?"

"Just do it, Jean."

"Uhh, no. I want a pretty damn good reason for why I should do what you say."

The shorter was already halfway out the door when the question was asked, and he reappeared with a fierce glare. "You really wanna know?"

"Jean, come on, we can go help," Marco insisted, and tugged on his friend's arm, but he was shoved away.

"Yeah, I really wanna know," Jean snarled. He stepped closer to Eren so that the tips of their noses touched. "Enlighten me, Locke."

Initially, the green-eyed male had snorted, shaking his head and walking away. Jean could barely remember what he had done—he thought it was a flick to the back of the head—before he and Eren were on the floor and struggling to dominate the other. He could hear Marco in his attempts to stop them, and another voice, much more colder and irked, come in then. He had managed to get a few good punches on him, as had Eren, but before either could do much, a hand grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him off with incredible strength. Once he gathered his bearings once more, his breath slightly labored and coming in pants, the musician focused his attention on whoever had pulled him off.

"You need to stop picking fights," Mikasa scolded with a neutral expression. Jean only stared back at her, eyes burning with fury. She was dressed just like the rest of them, along with her red scarf, but it added, if anything, to the intimidation of her usual appearance.

"I'm not picking fights," he murmured. "He's the one bossing everyone around."

"You were flirting with your boyfriend!" Eren protested, held back by Marco's firm grasp around his stomach that kept his feet dangling in the air. "It's not like you were being productive!"

"He's not my boyfriend!" Although he knew the yell was unnecessary to an extent, it was aggravating him enough to know that everyone simply assumed he and Marco were dating. He wanted to be able to go out with him, holding hands across the table, sharing kisses, enveloping each other under the covers with warmth and love and a bond that lasted for thirteen years and more. But he kept himself at arm's length, even with their close friendship. As painful as it was, he couldn't allow them to date each other; that's not what Marco deserved. He should get a nice, caring person who could sweep him off his feet without dropping him, someone who wasn't an asshole and who didn't start fights over silly things with someone he both respected and despised.

"Stop picking fights with Eren," Mikasa replied. "I don't care if you're flirting with Marco or not. Don't hurt my brother."

The taller opened his mouth to retort something back, but he closed it instead. The irony of the words she was saying to him struck a chord in him that he knew he would receive backlash from, but at this point, he didn't care if someone punched his lights out. He had known Mikasa for years, and even with his failed attempts to woo her in middle school, he had always known of her love for Eren and how controlling it could be, whether her brother wanted it or not. Especially now that they were in college, he could see the cycle repeating—but this time, with someone who actually had to battle for her attention.

"You know," he began, "you're right, Mikasa. I shouldn't fight with your brother anymore. He's the most important thing to you, right?"

Mikasa was suspicious, he could tell by narrowed eyes, but she didn't say anything. Marco had let go of Eren, but neither spoke nor showed any indication that they knew what he was saying.

"You would do anything for him, wouldn't you? Because I find it so funny how you would do something like that for him when he went against someone with his 'boyfriend'."

"Where are you going with this?" She demanded.

"I'm not going anywhere with this. I'm just saying you and your brother have an interest in romantic relationships that you can't even imagine having. Hell, you must be an expert at this sort of thing, right? Speaking of relationships, how’s Annie?"

Eren's jaw dropped, and he struggled to speak, but his words were lost on his tongue. Mikasa, her grey eyes blaring with anger, dragged her brother out of the room and didn't say anything else to him. Marco was clearly confused; Sasha and Connie, still in the room (he could vaguely recall them encouraging the fight to happen), peered up at him with looks of amazement and, almost, awe.

"I can't believe you said that to her and didn't get annihilated!" Sasha stated as Jean returned to the bed, after closing the door and situating the buckles of his costume that had come loose during the fight.

"I think she was too surprised to do anything," Connie piped in with a small laugh of disbelief.

"She's too focused on her brother right now—well, more than usual—to think about Annie," Jean pointed out. "Of course she wouldn't know what to say. I'd bet money she's going downstairs right now to try and look for her."

Marco, still confused and eyebrows furrowed down, spoke up; "So, umm. She and Annie are…dating?"

"For two years, yeah. But after Christmas, it got really bad."

"Why?"

"Well, Mikasa cares too much for Eren," Connie explained. "She'd do anything just to be with him. She even took the same classes as him in high school so that they would be together–but she could have totally handled herself in the advanced classes."

"She was still _in_ advanced classes," Sasha added, "just not the more difficult ones, like where Reiner and Bert and Annie were."

"Yeah, like the sciences and math ones. She could have but she decided not to because she wanted to be with Eren. I don't even know how long it took him to convince her to take the courses for her major in college. Everyone thought dating Annie could help her break out of the habit and give Eren some space. And…sometimes, it works, but not all the time."

"Poor Armin, though. He's stuck between both of them, and he wants to help them out, but they're too stubborn to listen to him."

"Yeah, I know… They need to start listening to him, man. They'll probably get somewhere if they do."

Jean finally succeeded in sealing buckles and adjusting the belts that crisscrossed over his body. He pulled the tan jacket on and took a quick look down at himself. "Alright, how does it look?"

"You look good!" Sasha chirped.

"Thanks, Sash."

"Like a horse," Connie mused. "A very strange horse."

"That's okay, because you look like a bald monkey."

"Hey! It’s a buzz cut!!"

"What about you Mar? You've been quiet for a while."

The freckled male glanced up at him and gave a weak convincing smile. "It's fine," he answered, and returned to the fiddling of his hat.

"Did your hat break?"

"Hmm? Oh—yeah, the ribbon in the center came off a little, but it's nothing to worry about."

Jean took a closer look at it, and could see that it was, in fact, something to worry about. The ribbon that held the accessories together had been removed so that only the portion holding something had actually stayed on. It would need some strong glue to get it to stay down again, and the musician knew just where to do that. Ripping the hat out of his hands, the two-toned-haired male headed out the room and down the stairs, closely followed by the trio formerly in the room with him.

"Jean, where are you going?" Marco called out after him.

"To fix your hat," he replied.

"You don't need to! It's fine!"

"Too late, I'm already looking for the glue."

"I don't want to trouble you—"

"You couldn't trouble me, even if you tried." He opened drawer after drawer in the kitchen, knowing of a tough glue that he could use to fix the hat.

"You're better off just letting it happen, Marco," the bald male pointed out with a shrug. "Once he gets focused on something, it takes forever for him to get off of it."

"I can see that," the taller sighed. "But still, he shouldn't have to fix it. I can do it on my own."

Jean lifted a bag of shredded green that looked too familiar and too suspicious to pass up. With a deadpanned look, he held the bag out in front of the trio. "Really?"

"Hey, man, I didn't do it this time," Connie raised his hands into the air. "I'm innocent."

Marco, eyes wide with surprise, shook his head, his face a cherry red.

Sasha guiltily looked away, and didn't even have to speak to admit it.

"Come on, Sash," Jean groaned and tossed her the Ziploc bag, which she caught with a small sigh. "Hide it in your house."

"The last time I did, Ymir found it and lit it up!" The brunette frowned. "And I knew you guys wouldn't do that unless it was each other's, so…I figured it was my best option."

"Where did you even get that?" Connie wondered, both intrigued and confused.

"I kept some from our sabotage at the Pike party a couple weeks ago."

"It's been here that long?!"

"Yeah! I didn't think you guys would take so long to notice!"

"You put it in a drawer we don't normally use," Jean noted. "Clever girl."

"Thanks, but I'm a journalist, not a velociraptor."

"Can we smoke some before the others come back?" Connie asked hesitantly.

"Uhh, yeah!"

"Awesome—let's do it!" The duo dashed up the stairs once more, for what Jean wasn't sure. He took out a hot glue gun and plugged it in, hoping it wouldn't take so long before he could use it. In the meantime, he noticed a rather concerned Marco stayed nearby, shifting from one foot to the next. He wondered what it was about; anxiety wasn't a regular presence he was exposed to with his friend. There had to be some way to break the ice, to pass the time as he repaired a top hat and their friends got high upstairs.

"Did you guys ever get called out for the party on Sunday?" He finally asked.

Marco, who had hopped onto the kitchen counter behind him, hummed in thought; "Not that I can think of, no. I mean, we talked to Smith about it, but he hasn't set up 'repercussions' for us yet."

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah…I mean our next biggest event is the Christmas party in the gym, and I don't know if he would stop us from going to that. Maybe he'll stop us from doing something in the spring battles."

"Yeah, maybe. I hope he doesn't do anything for Christmas. That would suck."

"It would." His smiled faintly, chuckling under his breath. "Speaking of frats, where's the rest of Fiji?"

Jean, the hot glue now useable, paused for a moment to see, and hear, that no one was in the house except for the four. "Well, I know for a fact Ymir and Historia are across the street getting things ready at AOPi. Reiner probably went to get more candy after Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum ate it all; if that’s the case, Bert and Annie went with him. Mikasa would have been worrying over Eren but I think after what I said, she's more concerned about Annie and is looking for her while Eren goes after her. Armin is trying to get them back so he can end their drama and get them under control. And, of course, Sasha and Connie are getting baked.”

"Ahh. So everywhere but here."

"Basically—ow." The hot glue gun singed his finger, and he turned the faucet on immediately to cool down the stinging.

"…does Annie like anyone?"

"Annie?" He stole a glance at the freckled chef, who was deep in thought from the question, and then turned back to the sink. "Yeah, she does."

"Besides Reiner and Bert."

"Besides them, yeah; she's just less vocal about it. She and I are chill. I know she and Armin are close. They tried to date once, but they got grossed out by heterosexuality and quit. Ah—Eren and Annie are pretty good friends. They used to train each other when they played sports in high school. It helped them out a little; that’s how Annie got to know Mikasa more. They would fight, and ‘Momkasa’ would be there to break it up." He turned off the faucet, dried his hands, and got back to working on the hat. "Did you know that Mikasa actually hated Annie for the longest time?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was _bad_. If you think Eren and I are bad, you haven't seen these two in high school. And they're both _really_ good fighters too, so it was intense as hell. No one ever really won, though."

"Didn't they get in trouble?"

"It was after school, so it didn't really matter then. Annie's cool to hang around with; you just have to get used to her. She's like an egg: hard to crack at first, but you just have to tap a little harder so you can get to the part that _really_ matters."

Jean unplugged the hot glue gun and twirled the hat on his finger, now finished with gluing the ribbon back down. He turned to place it on Marco's head, only to see said male biting down on his lip. Once their eyes made contact, he burst into laughter and clutched at his sides, his head thrown back and eyes shut. The musician, to say the least, was confused.

"What did I say?"

"Annie—Annie is an egg?" He grinned, giggling at his own sentence.

"Yeah, an egg. I tried to use a cooking metaphor for you, nerd, be grateful!"

"I like it, I like it! I just wasn't expecting it!"

Jean huffed, though smiled all the same, and tugged Marco's hat down past his eyes. "Loser. I fixed your fucking hat."

"Thank you!" He adjusted it so that he could see better, and sighed, his laughter dying down. "You're so hard on yourself sometimes."

"Hah?"

"You're a nice person, but you say that you're not."

"Because I'm not."

"But you fixed my hat when you really didn’t have to."

"I owed you."

"Not really. You did it because you're a good person who worries about his friends, even if he doesn't say it. You're like an egg: hard to crack at first, but you just have to tap a little harder and then you can get to the part that _really_ matters."

He scoffed and shoved the Pike. "That's my line. Copyright infringement."

“Are you two done flirting, or are you gonna get high with us?” Sasha interrupted the two males, standing between them with a handful of rolls of paper. Connie stood behind her, one hand holding the bag of pot and the other a lighter.

"I didn't think you guys would share," Jean snorted. "What took you so long to find two pieces of paper?"

"That's a secret," Connie shrugged, and the duo plopped down on the ground. Jean and Marco followed suit, and the brunette began to roll the bits of cannabis up into the paper. The bald male nodded to the tallest of the four; “Have you smoked before?”

“I've been around people who did, but I never tried it myself, no," Marco sheepishly answered, his knees pulled up to his chin.

“We were just gonna share them with each other. If you want, you can try it, but you don’t have to if you don't want to. If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to get up and leave.”

"You're gonna smoke pot on the kitchen floor?"

"Yeah, duh. It's so much easier that way."

"…okay. I'll try it."

“Badass.” The photographer grinned. “I’ll talk you through it, don’t worry. It gets easier after the first hit.”

“So I’ve heard…”

Sasha finished rolling up the blunts, and handed one to Jean as Connie continued. “We should get working on these two bad boys before the others get home. I’ll share one with Sasha; just make sure you guys don’t use it all up in one go. And don’t take too much of it either. We gotta be sober for trick-or-treating.”

“You’re responsible when it involves pot,” Jean snorted.

“It’s _pot_ , dude. Of course I am.”

“We have to share?” Marco inquired, his eyebrows raised and creased together in what looked like worry.

“That's what I said before, yeah. Sharing is caring, guys, c'mon. Who wants to go first?”

Very little could be explained or recalled afterwards. Marco had managed to cough very little from his first hit, but still continued, taking the next few inhales with ease. Connie and Sasha had gone back and forth like pros, and eventually, all four were spouting their own nonsense. Their promise to “not take too much” was quickly broken, as the rush and drift pulled them farther and farther away from reality. When they returned, Jean couldn’t remember the conversation they had had when the rest of their roommates and troupe of friends returned. He couldn’t remember how they acted or what they had done. And he certainly couldn’t remember why his lips tasted like smoke and orange juice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The nickname "Marocco" is a play on the country Morocco, since it has similar wording and sounds and whatnot. These friends like to give each other weird nicknames, if you haven't seen it already.  
> **John Locke was an enlightenment thinker from the seventeenth century. One of his biggest contributions is man having every right to "life, liberty, and property", and that people of a nation can revolt their government if that government is failing to uphold their rights. A lot of his ideas were used by Thomas Jefferson when he was writing the Declaration of Independence, the most obvious coming from "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness". Fun fact!


	13. Search and Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Jean and Marco kiss in that last chapter? Was it someone else? Who knows until you read this?
> 
> ***WARNING: there is (underage) alcohol use and drug references in the upcoming chapter. Please proceed with caution.***
> 
> Next week I'm hoping I can upload the next chapter on time but I'm not too sure yet? If not, it'll be earlier than I usually update these stories, so keep an eye out for that. Or just wait until you come on and see it. Whatever floats your boat.
> 
> I made a reference to RuPaul in here somewhere because I'm currently obsessed with "RuPaul's Drag Race".
> 
> You are spectacular.

_3 hours, 45 minutes remaining_

“And what did we learn today, Jeanny?”

“If you steal from Reiner, he'll have a stick up his ass for the rest of the day.”

“Just for that, Jean, you fail the test.”

“Really? Because I think I should be given full credit for telling the truth.”

It wasn’t until ten minutes after the trick-or-treating had happened when the four who had gotten high awoke from the nap they had taken. They were no questions asked as they dragged themselves out of their costumes ("All that money for shit we didn't even get to show off."), Marco returning to Pike, and they started to prepare for the party at Chi Omega's. The costumes at night were more for their "age group" in the sense that they were scarier and more adult- than child-friendly. Just as it worked for the morning, each house chose a costume theme for them to dress up in. Fiji had chosen a zombie theme that resembled the “Thriller” music video, and through multiple watches, online tutorials, and practices, they were confident that they would win at least some type of award for their costume.

"Why would you even do something so irresponsible when you have a kids event to help with?" Reiner wondered, examining his reflection and the work he had done so far on his face, which consisted of peeled skin under his eyes that resembled rays and the indication of a damaged, if not broken, jaw.

Jean snorted and rolled his eyes before applying more green to his face to add a rotting complexion; "As if you haven't smoked weed before."

"It's not the smoking I'm concerned about—"

"Says the lawyer."

"—it's more of the situation."

"Well, we found it on accident, and it was Sasha’s anyway.”

_“And that’s why snakes are just really long tails.”_

_“Wow.”_

_“Snakes are cool.”_

_“Sash, what’re you eating?”_

_“Pizza with orange juice, ranch…pepperoni.”_

_“Fuck yeah, give me some.”_

_“I just want the orange. Not the orange juice. Just the orange."_

"Why would she hide it at our place?" Bertolt asked, pausing in adding final touches to the bloody "wound" on his neck.

"Last time, Ymir found and used it," the taller blond answered. “She told me about it the first time and wanted to share it with me. Then she asked if people with bigger noses were descendents of elephants.”

“What'd you tell her?”

“Yes, because I didn’t want to argue with her.”

Jean sneezed into the crook of his elbow and groaned; "Fuck, now the makeup's all chunky."

"It's not that bad. You can't even tell."

"Can't even tell my ass." Knowing there was no way he could fix it, he sealed the section of the kit he was using and called downstairs; "Hey Con! I have more paint for you guys to use!"

The three were quiet until the bald male, his head half-covered in red and pink, retrieved the paint. "So tonight," Reiner began.

"Yeah?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how likely are the chances of you and Marco making out by the end of the party?"

"Fuck off, Reiner; we're not Sasha and Connie."

"Hey!" The male in question frowned. "We're not that bad!"

"You guys end up making out every time you get drunk!"

"No we don't!"

"You were probably so drunk, your memory can't remember it without imploding on itself."

"Like how your memory can't remember what you and Marco did before?" Bertolt added.

Reiner laughed loudly and threw his head back. "He doesn't remember!"

_"What do you think would happen if we had different names for numbers?"_

_"Like what?"_

_"Liiiike…if the word 'five' was actually not 'five'."_

_"What would it be?"_

_"…four."_

_"Pff–this isn't '1984', Morocco."_

_"What if books are different universes that we can read but not see?!"_

_"…holy shit."_

"Remember what?" Jean asked with suspicion, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't sure what he had done when he was high, but he knew he didn't like it already.

Connie was just as confused by the statement, but then a wide grin split on his face at his recollection. "So that's why Eren laughed when I said 'what happened'," he smirked.

"What was it?!"

It didn't take him long to remember; how could it when it was directly involved to what he was scolding Connie for? His embarrassment was clear on his face, once he remembered what he had done, though it was more of shame for how he acted towards his friend and not so much for what he did with Marco.

_“No, no, watch!” Marco, seated in Jean’s lap, grabbed his face and pulled him against his lips for a kiss. The musician was confused, letting out a whine before he returned it, one hand holding the vegan’s legs close to him and the other running along the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to let him in, and he ran his tongue along the inside. They could barely keep together before they were laughing, the taller pulling away to throw his head back. “It feels like a thousand fireworks are in my mouth!”_

_“You smell like oranges,” he grinned, hiding his face and giggling into the chef’s shoulder._

_The Californian turned serious, however, and he forced their foreheads together. Jean couldn’t help but laugh, bowing his head and shaking with his held-in sounds. “We need to go on a honeymoon. Iiiin Canada.”_

_“Canadadada?”_

_“Canadia. We need to go there now.”_

_“Okay.” The shorter nodded before his face split into a wide grin, and he laughed once more. “I’ll fly you there. We can go together.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Pinky swear.” He raised his pinky up in invitation, to which the dark-haired male stared at the single digit as if it was the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. When he crossed the finger with his own pinky, he grinned and laughed._

_“Pinky swear.”_

“Oh, by the way, Eren says we're leaving in like, ten minutes. AOPi is just gonna meet us there."

"We're done, anyway, so."

“Cool; is the dip ready?”

“All we need to do is wrap it up, and then it’s good.”

“Awesome!”

“By the way, your brain looks really good so far.”

“Thanks! I’ve only gotta add some more details and then I’m done.”

Jean chose then to speak up, scoffing at the comment and shaking his head. “Don’t flatter him, Bert. He doesn’t even have a brain to work with.”

“Shut up, Ponyboy,” Connie scowled. “Your face looks like a rotten avocado.”

With a harsh glare, the taller shoved him out of the bathroom. “Be down in a minute.”

“But—”

“In a minute!”

x-x-x

_Chi Omega  
_ _3 hours,  15 minutes remaining_

The house that belonged to Chi Omega was overflowing with people and excitement. Costumes of different colors and sizes, even cultures, appeared in every direction. Darth Vader was having a conversation with a male in a meat dress. The Cat in the Hat was playing beer pong with Harry Potter, Freddie Mercury, and Snow White. There was a small stage set up to the right, with different instruments and a handful of mics securely in their stands. The speakers on the homemade stage blasted custom-made music specifically for Halloween: easy to dance to, but also a pleasant listen. Decorations mostly hung from the ceiling or doorways, from orange and black streamers to lanterns indented with different ghost faces. Food and drinks were littered everywhere: on tables and furniture, in hands and even on the stairs, accompanying the distinct smell of alcohol that filtered the air.

Sasha rushed over to Connie and Jean as soon as she spotted them, a mixture of a bad 80s outfit and bubbly giggles past the fake braces and metal gear on her face. "I have several important things to tell you!" she exclaimed over the loud music. Connie's eyes widened and he leaned closer with excitement, but the other only paid half of his attention on her. "First off, you dumbbells walked right past the woman of the hour, Miss Annie Leonhardt, who pulled the stick out of her ass for tonight and not only dressed up but also matches with a special someone~"

The duo looked over where the brunette was pointing, and were met with a stoic yet unrecognizable Annie. The only way they were able to identify her was the height difference when compared to Reiner and Bertolt, who were talking to her with shock apparent on their faces. Her clothes were simple and casual–a long, short-sleeved white shirt and black leggings, various paint splotches littering the front and sides–though the black spray paint in her hair was enough to indicate her attire as her costume. Although it was nothing too elaborate, it was an extraordinary sight coming from her, though not just because of her personality. It had been her personal pact after an incident with silly string and a rotten pumpkin in seventh grade that she would never again take part in any type of Halloween celebrations.

"Holy shit," Connie stared, jaw open and eyes wide. “That _is_ Annie Leonhardt.” His outburst was enough to draw Annie's attention away from the duo in front of her to the three gawking at her, and her face lit up in a brief showing of embarrassment and frustration. She maneuvered—or, rather, forced—her way over to them, her height and tone only adding to the intimidating air she brought.

"This is a one-time deal," she sneered in a low yet steady voice, somehow heard despite the volume of the music. "I'm getting paid fifty bucks for even doing this. If any of you mention this in the future, I will make it my personal mission to make those the last words you will ever say." Connie and Sasha nodded obediently, but Jean yawned in disinterest. He had been the subject of her threats for years now, and was unfazed by all of it. His indifference, however, only angered Annie more as she grabbed his collar and pulled him down to eye level. "If you think I'm making a joke, Kirschtein, I don't have a problem making that getup a reality."

The taller snickered at that, removing her hand from his jacket and patting her head dutifully. "It's not a big deal, blondie," he nonchalantly chided. "It's Halloween for crying out loud."

"I don't care what holiday it is. You repeat this to anyone outside of this house tonight and it's your funeral."

"Oh come on, have some fun," Connie spoke up.

The tiny blond shot him a glare as well. "Same for you, baldie. Though I wouldn’t have to do much for you; you don’t have a lot for me to knock out of your head."

“Hey!”

Annie grabbed onto Jean's nose and shoved him away. "I would comment on yours, but your face looks like an avocado."

Sasha’s laughter, carrying over from Annie’s insult to Connie, increased in volume, joined by the shorter male. The musician glared at them, though his grumbled reply of "Gee, thanks" was for the retreating blond.

"Oh!” The brunette hopped in place and hurriedly turned in a circle. “I just saw Marco–his costume is amazing! He makes a great Sally!”

“Well, he can’t be too far away,” Connie stated, trying to stand on his tiptoes to help the search. Though even Jean couldn’t see where the freckled chef in question had gone.

“It was Marco, right?” Jean asked. “And not someone acting like him?”

“Of course it was; he liked my outfit! Why would someone else act like him?”

“Alcohol.”

“Eh. Fair point. Speaking of being under the influence–”

“If it has to do with what I did with Marco today, I don’t want to hear it.”

“But _Jeaaaaan_!”

“It’s your fault for smoking,” Connie pointed out.

“You two wanted to smoke it in the first place!”

“You should have said no then!”

“We’re going nowhere with this.” Jean ran a hand through his hair with a groan. The mixture of not seeing Marco and the argument was starting to get the better of him, something he didn’t want. “Look. Let’s just do something else, okay? And at least try and have fun?”

Sasha nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds good!”

Connie huffed and mumbled under his breath, but agreed nonetheless.

x-x-x

_Two hours remaining_

“Whoohoo! I am the beer pong champion!”

“So what? You totally cheated.”

“I did not! I played fair and square!”

“You rigged the ball!”

“I’ve never seen that ball in my _life_!”

“Con, give her the trophy.”

“No way!”

“Give it to me, cueball!”

“ _Cueball_?!”

“Let’s play a different game.”

“I won this _fair_ and _square_!”

“Oh yeah?! Well, after you insulted me, I change my mind! I’m _keeping_ this!”

“Can Jam? Ladder Toss?”

x-x-x

_One hour, thirty minutes left_

“You know, I never really liked whiskey until now.”

“Really?”

“Mhm— _wow_ , that’s strong.”

“Take it easy, Sash. Drink anymore and your liver will explode.”

“I’ll be fine! It’s not like it’s tequila or anything crazy!”

"Yeah, but you don't really have a high tolerance for alcohol."

"Uhh, yeah I do! Why do you think I'm drinking it?"

"That has no relation to what I'm saying but okay."

"Oh by the way, I saw Marco."

"You what?!"

"Chill, I'm just saying!"

"Where was he?!"

"When I went to get drinks; he had cupcakes and he gave me one… Jean, he won't be there. He already went with Wagner. He says he's looking for you though."

"You couldn't bring him here?!"

"He was going outside, I couldn't stop him!"

"Jean, you need to relax. You're taking this way too seriously."

"I haven't seen him at all since we've been here. And it's not fair that you two got that chance!"

"Dude. Chill."

"Is that where you got the cupcake from?"

"Yeah."

"Jean wants Marco's cupcake."

"I hate both of you. I hope you slip and fall on your own vomit."

x-x-x

_Fifty minutes remaining_

“And y’know what else? I always hated his hair too. It looks like a fuckin’ mop. And it smells. He smells. Why is he even human?"

"Mm."

"Sometimes I wanna punch him. Maybe rip off his dick a lil."

"Mhm."

"…are you assholes even li—"

Jean turned his head to speak to Sasha and Connie, but found that they were too busy kissing to focus on what he was saying. He made a mental note to talk to them about it later, but the drunken state of his mind flooded his memory. He could barely remember what had made him angry in the first place, and he was convinced his beer had emptied on its own. He contemplated on what to do for a moment before he left the duo to their own devices. He went in search of a new drink, maybe two, but stopped at the familiar sound of laughter. It seemed to come from all sides, but one glance to his right and he could make out the source. The identity of the person was unknown, but with another ringing laugh, he could pinpoint the owner. There was no doubt about it now; he had found the one person he had been searching for all night.

_Forty minutes remaining_

“Jean! There you are!”

Mina Carolina popped up from seemingly nowhere, beaming and glistening with energy. He might not have recognized her if she hadn’t jumped into his line of sight, with her hair up and hidden behind her headdress instead of hanging in pigtails. There was a suspicious sway of her movements, her small hop from either foot, but for all he knew, it might be his own movements.

“I’ve been looking for you all night! Is it true about you and Marco?”

“Marco?” His attention was held now, and he stared back with bewilderment at the shorter. “What about Marco?”

“He said you guys are dating! At least, I think that’s what he said. Hah, I think we’ve been playing too many games.”

“We’re dating?”

“Aren’t you? I think that’s what he said. Maybe. I dunno!”

Jean frowned and stared down at his feet. “He never told me we were… Why did he tell you and not me?”

“I’ve been friends with him since we were lil kids.”

“Yeah, but he’s written me before.”

“Written you?” It might have been the alcohol, or the pure amusement his statement held, but she laughed nonetheless. “Why would he do that? You only just met!”

“No, I think we met before. In letters. I think he mailed himself to me?”

Mina blinked owlishly and then burst into an abundance of giggles. “You’re so drunk—it’s embarrassing!” Her laughter died down, however, as she turned serious and pulled Jean down to her height. “But if you are dating, you better be nice to him. Marco is a saint, and a good fuckin’ person, and he deserves the very best that life has! So don’t fuck it up!”

And with a poke on the nose and a shove, she was off in a blur of white and feathers. He didn’t remember what had been said in their conversation, but her last warning echoed in his ears, and it startled him. What was the point of chasing after Marco? They were never supposed to be together in the first place, one full of kindness and the other full of selfishness. They were incompatible, their situation incomprehensible, unreasonable. The highest stage they could reach was the friendship they already had established. There was nothing else they could achieve.

_Thirty-five minutes remaining_

Jean eventually found his way to the drinks, located outside against the wall, and made a small plate laden with snacks to take back to the dynamic duo. Even though he suspected Sasha and Connie were still kissing, he knew they would be upset that he hadn’t brought any snacks back with him—before resuming their make-out session that would never be remembered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ymir, recognizable only by her voice and the display of freckles on her cheeks, being held back by Reiner. It looked as if Bertolt was trying to talk to her, perhaps pull her out of her anger, but by the growl and language that spewed from her mouth, that outcome was unlikely.

Returning back to their place at the kitchen island led Jean to the answer of Ymir’s fury without him having to ask. Connie, in a different spot, had one hand gripping his nose and the other holding an unopened beer, his head tilted forward. Sasha was seated beside him and holding an ice pack to his face. A worried Historia looked up when he walked over, and leapt to her feet.

“Jean, please tell me that’s for Connie,” she frowned. “He’s been whining about food for ten minutes.”

“I figured they would,” he simpered, and handed the blond the plate. Connie grunted in response and nudged the ice pack away to take a chip on the plate. The brunette hopped out of her chair and went to put the ice pack away for now.

“Connie got in a fight with Miri and almost got knocked out,” Sasha informed him with unfitting enthusiasm considering the circumstances. “It was _awesome_.”

“It was not _awesome_ ,” the bald male grumbled under his breath. “I almost died.”

“Yeah, but you would have died with _honor_. _Summa cum laude_.”

“What did he even do?” The musician asked, taking Historia’s flower crown from her and placing it on his head.

“Connie and I were talking and Ymir deemed it as ‘flirting’,” the tiny blond replied with a sigh, “even though there was nothing sexual going on.”

“Jealous drunk.”

“Of course. She said he ‘gave me that look’, which is apparently the ‘heterosexual trashy’ look.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Connie’s heterosexual trash?” Sasha suggested, resulting in a sputtering protest from Connie. She only pecked his forehead in return, and he relaxed at the action before he leaned against her.

“Reiner and Bert were able to drag her away, though,” Historia stated. “Hopefully, they’ll be able to convince her that she’s wrong, but at this point, I don’t know.”

_Twenty minutes remaining_

“I hope they kick her ass,” Connie murmured.

“You’re so grumpy!” Sasha chided, and pecked the top of his head. A bit of makeup smudged onto her chin, but if she noticed it, she made no notion of it. Instead, she and the bald male began their previous kissing, the napkin covering Connie’s nose temporarily pushed aside. Whether they worried about the recent incident or not, it was unclear to them.

“By the way,” Historia stated, retrieving her flower crown from his head, “I saw Marco looking for you before.”

“Yeah,” the two-toned-haired male snorted. “I’ve heard.”

“You haven’t found him yet?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen him since this afternoon.”

“When you two got high on the kitchen floor and made out?”

“Yeah. That.” It was still strange to hear her say something so vulgar so casually. To her, it may have been no big deal, but there had been once upon a time where she would have died before saying something like that. He even had difficulty remembering, after two years, that her name was Historia instead of the false name she had identified as for years.

There was a break of silence before she spoke up once more. “Why haven’t you gone after him?”

“Not up for it.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Eh.”

_Ten minutes remaining_

The tiny blond frowned, humming quietly as she toyed with the ends of her hair absentmindedly. “You don’t really feel like that, do you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m just asking. I thought you two were best friends.”

“I’m back,” Ymir announced with a sullen tone. She pressed a small kiss against the back of Historia’s head. “Let’s dance.”

“Did you talk to Reiner like we told you to?” She wondered suspiciously.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom taught me a lesson and I learned from it, yadda-yadda.” The taller female nudged her girlfriend towards the dancefloor, and eyed Jean. “‘sup, Avocado?”

“Hello, Cleopatra,” Jean commented with a scowl. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“So have I; the snake didn’t bite my tit enough, so here I am, still standin’. Saw your boyfriend, though; how come you’re avoiding him?”

“I’m not avoidin’ him.”

“Uh-huh, right, and I’m fucking Julius Caesar.”

“Ymir, stop,” Historia sighed, pushing the taller away from the area.

“Yeah, listen to the queen,” the musician smirked. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

The freckled female patted his back with a belch as she passed. “Thanks, Kirschnuts. Push harder, Tori!”

As the two left, Sasha and Connie broke apart momentarily to order food from Jean, who had no other choice but to retrieve it for them despite his grumbling. He returned a short while with a new plate and more food, and the duo dug into it immediately. He barely had the chance to turn, however, when he was roughly rotated and shoved against the counter, his lips now covered with a soft pair that tasted of icing and alcohol. The musician grunted and held onto the shoulders in front of him, trying to recognize the person who had claimed the sudden kiss. He could make out a faint indication of freckles along the cheekbones, past the blue makeup and black “stitches” that appeared over his hands and face. It was enough to convince Jean to shut his eyes and let himself melt into the kiss. Marco’s hands were warm against his hips as they were pulled close together, their chests and lower halves pressed close enough that it sent a shiver down his spines. Jean, in return, caressed his face and tilted his head; his nose ached from the force that had been shoved against it, but it was worth it all the same. He was kissing Marco–Marco was kissing him–and it was heavenly.

Their movements became rougher and more lustful, and the shorter was lifted effortlessly yet carefully onto the counter. He shifted in place for a brief moment, his arms now trailing downwards to press against the chef’s lower back. Marco hummed and pulled away briefly, and their foreheads touched; hazelnut gazed into gold, strengthened with love and admiration. The taller smiled warmly, and a small laugh fell past his pink lips. “I wanted to do that for a while now,” he exhaled, “but I never got the chance to.”

“I can tell,” the musician chuckled, and he pressed another firm kiss against his mouth. His legs found their way to grasp his hips as they separated. “You taste really good.”

It was with a smile, a small giggle, a soft nuzzle against him, that Jean realized he had chosen the right person to fall head-over-heels for. There were no regrets for his actions, for they were unneeded and unwanted; there was no negativity, no sadness, no anger. They were so different, so totally opposite of one another, and yet it didn’t matter. They cared too much of one another to focus on such trivial things. When he was with a person as beautiful and as perfect for him as Marco was, everything was alright. For once, he was confident he had made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Costumes are as followed:  
> ~Fiji-zombies  
> ~AOPi-Katy Perry (Historia-Roar, Ymir-Dark Horse, Sasha-Last Friday Night, Mikasa and Annie-The One Who Got Away. Mikasa is the older version of Katy, and then Annie is the young one. Cute girlfriends are cute.)  
> ~Pike-Nightmare Before Christmas (guess who Marco is :)


	14. Headaches and Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat? Is that really the chapter name? "Kisses"? With "headaches"?
> 
> ***WARNING: mention of alcohol consumption and drunkenness is displayed in this chapter. Please be cautious.***
> 
> I have to do graduation things at the usual time I post this story so I'm doing it very early. Though I hope it's a surprise to read this when you wake up. :)
> 
> You are superb.

_"'Poor old Johnny Ray; sounded sad upon the radio, but he moved a million hearts in mono'–dance with me, dammit."_

_"I'm not gonna dance with you~"_

_"What are you doing right now then, huh~?"_

_"Walking!"_

_"That's dancing, sir."_

The pounding in his head was far from a new experience from him, as was him lying on his side with a damp wash cloth pressed against his forehead. A new feeling, however, was the pace of his heart and the butterflies in his stomach. His dream—though was it a dream?—was still fresh in his mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was, in fact, more than just an overactive imagination.

_"Too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye, aye–there, I did it, are you happy?"_

_"What are the next lyrics? 'And we dance just like our brothers'?"_

_"Ohhhh–you are so drunk."_

For a moment, he simply shut his eyes and relaxed into the blankets, lying as still as possible to prevent any unnecessary pain. He was experienced enough with hangovers to know what to do after a night of drinking: stay still, wait for it to subside enough so it wasn't splitting his head open, and take a long shower. If he knew his roommates, there should be a glass of water and some Tylenol on the bedside table. He would worry about food later, when the taste of alcohol and vomit wasn't present in his nose or on his tongue. Drinks were another story, considering the circumstances that landed him in this situation in the first place.

_"Come on Eileen! Oh, I swear what he means; at this moment you mean everything! You in that dress! My thoughts I confess, verge on dirty! Oh, come on Eileen"_

_"You're gonna drop me if you go any faster!"_

_"I prefer to say 'falling in love'~"_

_"How did you know?!"_

When the world had stopped spinning severely, Jean was able to sit up gradually, relying on his arms to hold up his weight before sitting up fully. He stretched his taut limbs slowly as he briefly examined the current state of his room. Connie's bed was empty and appeared unchanged, as did the area surrounding it. The absence of clothes on the floor indicated that it was more than likely he hadn't come home with them. The extra futon they had thrown into the room was occupied, the figure beneath the fluffy blankets silent and still aside from the rise and fall of the covers from his breathing. He didn't need a lot to see that it was, in fact, Marco under the covers, still silent and sleeping. Thankfully, it saved Jean time from the conversation that was likely to come when he awoke. He may have been drinking too much last night, but he remembered the specific "conversation"—though "singing competition" fit the criteria more—he had had with Marco when they were going home. It resulted in nothing but embarrassment and mixed feelings that only confused him further, twisting his heart even more than before.

_"Aah, come on let's take off everything~"_

_"That pretty red dress–well, jacket, hehe~!"_

_"Jesus fuck, please, just fucking kiss me already."_

_"Hey, you're up."_

Bertolt walked in, quiet and cautious and holding a tray laden with multiple dishes and mugs. He set it down on the desk parallel to Jean's bed and placed two of the plates and mugs on the table between their beds. Seeing as he was one of a handful of individuals who had decided to stay sober and had little interest in alcohol, Bertolt helped in the aftermath of the partying, making breakfast for the hungover and exhausted partygoers and catering to any appropriate needs. In other words, he would cook and retrieve items for them that weren't in their rooms, such as books or a washcloth, but he refused to go beyond that level. The quality of his pancakes may have had an influence in this decision, but it was also in his nature to be a supportive friend when one was needed. Hangovers were only small parts of the large package.

"I'm alive," the musician nodded, rubbing at his eyes to wake himself up more. "What'd you make today?"

"Pancakes, but we have waffles downstairs if these don't work out for you. Do you want to eat now, or wait a little bit longer?"

"Now is fine with me." Even if he had denied it, his stomach was practically roaring from hunger.

The taller handed him a plate stacked with two pancakes and three slices of bacon."Armin and I weren't sure what would be best for you to drink right now, so we just got plain water."

Jean snorted and shook his head. "I don't want to think about drinking for a decade, but thanks."

Bertolt laughed quietly at that; "If you need anything, just text us and we'll help you."

It wasn't until he was halfway out the door that the two-toned-haired male called his name. He stopped and looked back instantly, eyebrows raised in question. Although he was about to ask someone that could be relied on to help get through a bad day, the wording of his situation would definitely look bad on his part.

"When did you know?"

"When did I know what?"

"That you liked Reiner more than a friend. And that you wanted to be with him…romantically."

Reiner and Bertolt grew up as neighbors and best friends for their entire childhood. In their younger years, Jean recalled the duo being inseparable despite the differences in their personality. Their relationship developed into romance after their senior prom, and was still going strong to that day. It was more surprising to see that they had taken so long to get together than their actual relationship and feelings for one another.

The dark-haired male pursed his lips and sat on the edge of Jean's bed. It was rare that he opened up to anyone on how he was feeling unless he was close to them. Although they weren't as close as Bert was with Reiner and Annie, Jean was still one of the few that was able to see the looser, open-book.

"I think Reiner stopped being more than a friend during our sophomore year of high school. We didn't talk as much, but we still saw each other and hung out with Annie. We were little moments, like passing each other in the hallway, or…coming home at the same time. The less I saw of him, the more I wanted to see him again. But I never really came to terms with how I felt for him until senior prom, only because the thought of dating him was…well, it was scary. I've never been in a relationship before, and neither has he. We didn't know how to act around romantic partners. I thought it would be different for us. But…I figured it really didn't matter. I love him for who he is, and for how he makes me feel. And he can do what no one has really ever been able to do for me."

"What's that?"

"…he makes me feel wanted. Like I'm not just here to be here."

"Ah." Jean nodded and shifted his gaze into his plate. He was in a different situation due to his love for someone he had only met in person earlier that month, even with their writing history. However, the emotional situations–when those type of feelings surfaced–was similar enough that he could relate to it. "And you still feel like that."

"Well, yeah. He's my best friend, either way. But I love him. It's not really easy to explain, but… The way I look at it, when you start looking at someone and realizing just how much they mean to you, and you start having this urge that you've never felt before to show them how much they mean to you… That's when you know it's more than what it is."

"Huh." Jean, who had slowly but surely started to eat, nodded. "Good to know."

"…can I ask why you wanted to know?"

"I've just been thinking about Marco a lot lately. That's all. The thought of knowing that my best friend is someone I've completely fallen for, especially since I get to see him basically every day…it makes me wonder how an asshole jerk-off of my size was able to land with someone as great as him."

"Jean." Saying his name was enough to gather his attention. "If you really like him, then it makes no difference as long as you're together. Go for it before someone else does. Someone like Marco won't be waiting forever. There's gonna be someone who makes the first move before you can and will already have him. It's worth the risk. Besides, asshole or not, it's better than Alex Vancoven." Jean snorted at that as a deep, long call of Bertolt's nickname filtered in from the next room. He sighed and rolled his eyes, though traces of amusement lingered in his voice. "The Queen is calling for attention. Do you need anything else before he starts getting louder?"

"Nah, I'm good," the musician said. "'Sides, you gotta take care of Her Majesty now, and that's enough on one person."

"Berrrrrt!"

"Hold on, Reiner! Remember: Armin and I are only a text away if you need anything. Annie said Connie will probably be back later in the afternoon. He crashed at their place and is trying to deal with the fact that he and Sasha kissed— _again_."

"Of course he is. Because they don't like each other like that, right?"

"Not at all. Oh—" Bertolt was halfway out the door before he turned back and smiled, as small as it was yet with genuine encouragement; "and good luck with Marco. It'll turn out okay."

"Thanks, Bert." The taller finally left, scolding a whining Reiner as he did and leaving the musician to his own thoughts and meal.

There was no doubt in his mind that he had feelings for Marco. After their reunion, they had kissed an innumerable amount of times yesterday (even if they hadn't been sober for it). For ten years, they were best friends from across the country, writing and reading letters every week, bonding and becoming closer and closer than initially imagined. They found comfort in someone whom they hadn't even met in person yet. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing; Jean simply was no longer sure what they were waiting for. Their friendship was strong, just as it had been before college. Maybe they had put off dating to try each other out in person first, as if they needed some reassurance that the person they had written throughout the years was someone they wanted to spend their time with.

The lump on the futon began to move and groan, shifting before it gradually sat up. It was able to balance itself upright for a moment, but it fell back down with a soft plop. The moans of pain were just as evident as before, if not more so. The Virginian smiled in response, and chuckled.

"Morning, cupcake," he gently teased. Marco griped in response and a single chocolate brown eye peeked out at him from under the covers. Some of his makeup from last night had stayed on his face, the blue covering meshing into his pillow. Jean didn't doubt that he was in the same predicament. "There's some Tylenol and a glass of water for you on the table. And Bert and Armin made some food for us."

"I don't wanna eat ever again," the Californian declared in a low voice before he pushed the covers away and leaned over the edge of the bed. Grabbing the half-full trash can nearby, he emptied anything inside his stomach, and followed it up with another moan. "Ew."

Jean handed him the cloth set on the table for them in case of an emergency. "Welcome to college, right?"

The dark-haired male took the cool towel gratefully and grunted, dropping back against the covers and placing the cloth on his forehead. "College is crazy."

"Your choice to come here."

"Don't be sassy, I'm being serious. Why was alcohol even invented?"

"To distract us? I don't know; I play music at a radio station."

"You're so fancy,"

"Pff. Who's being sassy now?"

"Still you."

Jean rolled his eyes with a light grin. "Well then. On the bright side, it's better than community college."

"That name is so misleading. There are no dorms, so you live at home, and it only has your standard classes. And there are no sports either. Where's the community?"

"I think it's supposed to mean something similar to a local college. And not all community colleges are bad; they just make it easier for someone to work on some sort of degree."

"Mm. I still think they're dumb."

"You're dumb."

Even with the chef's attempt to stay serious, he couldn't keep it up for very long, and he burst out laughing. It set Jean's heart to a faster pace, and his stomach into a twisted clump of nerves. "Yeah. Maybe a little. That's why I'm hungover. But it takes one to know one, right?"

"Yeah…" He trailed off at the reminder of what they had to talk about, and how he was deliberately ignoring that. He had the perfect opportunity to do it as well and he was making jokes with him instead. "So, ah…about yesterday. At the party and…stuff."

Marco had sat up and started to eat his food, and hummed at the statement. "The party?" He persisted, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "What about it?"

"Err," Jean coughed awkwardly into his fist, his face already tinted with red, "I'm not sure how to start this, or how much you remember, but um…we kissed. A few times. When we were drunk."

The vegan stopped in place, fork clattering on his plate, and stared at the Virginian. There was little surprise on his face–Jean would even say it was nonexistent–but was overcome by an overwhelming amount of flustered emotions. If the blush on his cheeks had anything to say about it, then it was obvious he remembered what had occurred between them.

For some reason, however, it only caused the anxiety and irritation he was holding back to well up and spill out unintentionally. "Look, I only brought it up because I actually feel something for you and I want you to know. I don't wanna end up like Sasha and Connie, where we get drunk, kiss, and then deny it, because I hate that. And it's not fair to either of us, and it's not what I want with you. I wanna do couple things, like…like kissing and holding hands, and going on dates that are really dorky but really fun and…" _I want to admire every single part of your body and count your freckles because I'm in love with every single one of them as much as I am with you._ "I can't imagine someone else that I'd rather be with, because they can't ever match up to you."

Marco was quiet when the confession finally was out in the open. There wasn't much of an expression to read; his face was blank and his gaze was focused on the plate of food in front of him. Slowly, as if fast movements would break the fragile atmosphere they had produced, he returned the barely-half-eaten food to its place on the side table. He fixed the covers and shifted his body so that he was lying on his side, but he stopped and looked up at Jean. His eyes, as deep and as dark as they ever were, twin hazelnut pools of warmth, connected with the amber shards that stared back at him. It was like he had been waiting for years for this opportunity to come to him, and he was finally able to experience it.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You're not gonna be able to kiss me if you're all the way over there."

His statement, as teasing as it was, had the musician tripping over his feet and blankets and scooting underneath the sheets opened to him. He made contact with Marco, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him firmly, almost desperately. The blankets fell over his shoulders along with a pair of firm, muscular arms that held him close. Jean could practically feel the smile against his lips, the smile he had fallen in love with time and time again. Their legs tangled together like puzzle pieces, comfortably formed as one, as their torsos pressed against one another and their fingers traced invisible patterns against his skin. When they pulled away for breath, they still kept contact, Marco resting his chin in his hair and Jean burrowing his face into the crook of his neck. It smelled distinctly of long happy days filled with sunbeams, of fresh meals cooked to perfection, of smiles that were genuine and loving and reserved just for him, and that overwhelming yet addictive aroma of vanilla that he couldn't get away from.

After a brief moment of silence, a deep chuckle from the taller rumbled against him, and Marco pecked the crown of his head. "I can't believe we took so long to go through with that," he sighed in a whisper.

"Almost a month since we met in person," the two-toned-haired male murmured, "and ten years since we've been writing."

"Ten years…" The Californian scoffed, and his hold tightened considerably. "That's incredible… It feels like we've known each other for ever."

Humming in agreement, Jean let his thoughts and hands wander. His head spun with the current events that were taking place at that very moment. He was on top of the world, with nothing to stop him and nothing to pull him down. Yet at the same time, there had been so many times, too many times, where he had imagined this moment in crystal clear detail: he and Marco entangled between warm limbs, close enough to share hot breath. It felt too much like a dream for him to believe for a split second that this was reality. Everything was so vivid, so instant, so strong that he was nearly blown back from the force.

"Hey Jean?"

"Hmm?"

Marco shifted so that they could make proper eye contact. "Would this make us a couple?"

Jean paused briefly, and then gave a slow nod in confirmation. "Yeah… I would say so."

"Huh…" Smiling wide, he pulled him in for a kiss and nuzzled back against him. "I was hoping you would said that."

"Why wouldn't I?" The two-toned-haired male started to sit up to confront him, but as soon as he did, a headache brought him down once more.

The chef, frowning, kissed his forehead gently as his hands started to rub circles into his back. "I didn't wanna turn into Sasha and Connie either. And we didn't turn completely like them, but I never liked it when we would do couple things and then act like it never happened—like when we slow-danced to the Beatles, or when we cuddled on the couch instead of doing work… We acted like it was dumb, remember? Like it wasn't a big deal. And I think we stopped ourselves from becoming a couple because I said I wanted to get used to everything. But even then I realized I didn't really _have_ to get used to it, and that even if I did, it wouldn't matter, because there was always you. It always had been. And that couldn't change me, or us, no matter how hard it may have tried."

Jean had, at first withheld a laugh as best he could at the opening sentence. If there was anything that was true about all of this, it was that the relationship Connie and Sasha had was strange yet adoring all the same (and it would only get better if they confessed). However, up until the final part, Marco was correct about their relationship: they spent so much time together and yet shied away from intimate emotional moments–or, even worse, never admitted to their more affectionate actions. And it was now confirmed that he was just as hurt as the other was by that fact.

"You know what I think about this?" The musician asked in a low voice, one hand running against the side of his face.

"What do you think about it?"

"I think you need to get that frown off your face. Because this isn't the time to be pouty about something that we can't change. We don't have to hold everything back and not make any advancements. We can… Dammit, Marco, we can do whatever we want. We can do all those things we did before and so much more and it'll actually mean something instead of being a trial run. None of that other shit matters. If I make you happy and you make me happy, then everything is alright."

Marco smiled at that, first small but then wide, and he pulled them closer to close off their kiss. If they continued at it like this, there would be no end to where their lips could go. "You don't get to say that and _not_ let me kiss you. Jerk boyfriend."

"I try." Smirking, the shorter sighed and shut his eyes. "We can do what we want now. Well, anything _legal_."

 "What about marriage?"

"Eh. We'll find a way."

"And even then it still won't matter because I'll be one thing, and you'll be one thing, and we'll be okay."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Happy and together."

"You're so lame."

"I know, but I'm your lame."

Jean rolled his eyes and started his quest of layering every inch of Marco's freckled skin with kisses. The Californian laughed and allowed him to do so, pressing his own lips against the musician's skin when he had the chance. It was sweet and it was them and although it was new, Jean found himself overwhelmed with joy, more than he had been in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The song drunk!Jean and drunk!Marco dance/sing to is "Come on Eileen" by Dexys Midnight Runners. Good song, highly recommend. Also reflects Jean and Marco's relationship. "Come on Eileen" more like "Come On JeanMarco". ;)


	15. Talks and Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a story from mobile sucks. :( And I'm sick, which is never a good thing, so sad times all around.
> 
> But hey, I'm updating, as late as it is. I really am sorry for the late update. Can I make it up with dorky JeanMarco and some good old Nose Trio? 
> 
> Things are actually going somewhere for them now. It's just the beginning, but hey, have some faith. What's the worst that can happen?
> 
> You are a cutie patootie.

After Jean and Marco finally confirmed their relationship as a couple, they spent the rest of the day in bed, under the covers and huddled close together. They had no other reason for this except that they lacked the motivation to move out of the covers and their newly-made haven unless absolutely necessary, which wasn't often and only for food and bathroom breaks. Their time spent together was with kisses and quiet laughs and barely moving from their nose-touching proximity, their conversations in low, hushed whispers.

For Jean to be this close, to be able to kiss the freckles that scattered across Marco's cheeks and nose whenever he could, was intoxicating–head spinning–gut wrenching. His mind was going through a thousand things at once and could barely focus on one thought. Luckily, he had emptied his stomach of anything bile or disgusting, so he wouldn't be sick from it. His words weren't so jumbled, however, and his nervousness wasn't painfully obvious.

"This feels so…surreal," Marco admitted, his voice warm with affection yet quiet as it cut through the silence.

"It doesn't really feel like a lot has changed," Jean hummed with a nod. "I mean, we're close enough as it is."

"Exactly–I guess it's mostly for bragging rights then?"

"Heh," the shorter shut his eyes and rested his head against the vegan's shoulder, "bragging rights. I'll brag all day about us."

Marco chuckled in response, and his hand ran through the soft, two-toned hair. "You know, asides from trying to see you, I came here because I wanted to get out of San Diego."

The musician snorted; "C'mon, Mar. Tell me something that I can believe."

"It's true—my mom was driving me crazy with college and my 'life choices' that I apparently had no decision in making. Luckily, Mina applied here before I even did, so it helped convince her to an extent. I'm happy you didn't try and see me, because there's no way I would stay back there if I had to. And I'm definitely not going back now, if I can help it. Even for Nonna."

Frowning, the Virginian opened his eyes and sat up to look at the dark-haired male. The latter gazed at him in a mixture of confusion and guilt, the conflicted emotions flickering on his face. He could vaguely recall the topic of one of their too-many-to-count letters where Marco had revealed he wanted to leave his home state permanently when he was older. However, they hadn't gone into too much detail, mostly out of respect but also because there was little to discuss or do about the situation. "You mean…you're not going back to California. No matter what."

"Basically, yeah. I mean, it's nice to live in San Diego, but…if I went back, my mom would try and keep me there, and I won't be able to say no to her. And she knows that."

"Where are you gonna go?"

"I'll find somewhere. I'm twenty years old now; it's my responsibility to find somewhere to go."

"Live with me." He was unaware of what he was saying, but he didn't care to hold back. He meant the words he said to Marco, particularly those involving the current topic of the conversation. "When we're out of college. We can live together and help each other out. We can have a little apartment that smells like Yankee Candles, and there'll be a little bathroom for us to share, and a kitchen that's high-tech and fancy."

Marco laughed quietly and shook his head. "Right, right. And I'll have a lemonade stand and you can play music for customers. We'll be the local dinner theater."

"Hey," Jean poked the chef's nose, in hope that it would help cheer him up, "you never know what'll happen."

The taller hummed and smiled; his mood had increased in positivity, it was easy to see, but there were still lingering traces of sadness in his voice and on his expressions. "But I don't wanna live in an apartment either. Not forever, at least."

"We can live in a house then. White picket fence, giant backyard, a fancier kitchen–with a Keurig and five stoves. We can do it together."

Marco was silent for a moment before he tugged the Virginian back down and embraced him tightly. Jean returned it without hesitation, and kissed the side of his head. "Thank you so much. It means a lot to know you're willing to do that for me."

"If it's for you? I'd do anything." He smiled then, simply from hearing the words that caused his heart to soar and skip beats. "You mean a lot to me, Mar. You always have."

The kiss they ended up in still surprised Jean and shook him into reality for a brief moment. He was here, with Marco, kissing and holding him, in a confirmed relationship where they were neither drunk nor high to avoid the situation. It was just a reminder that this was real and not a dream, as he was still trying to push past that. However, the thoughts skidded through his mind when the kiss deepened, Marco opening his mouth and allowing Jean to enter. He was once again brought down into the dream world and consumed by a warm embrace and mesmerizing hands, of a smell of cinnamon and apples and that natural aroma that was simply Marco–

"Hey, I'm back; I brought—oh fuck you guys."

Connie's voice, unfortunately, and the shutting of the door were enough to break them out of the peaceful, somewhat romantic atmosphere they had built. Both stared at their bald friend with faces just as red as the other. The shorter glared back at them with pursed lips. The pizza box he had been holding dropped onto his bed, as did the two liter of Sprite, though his attention was still on the duo.

"Why did you two have to choose today, of all days, to get together?"

Jean shared a quick glance with Marco, just as clueless as he, and then looked back at his friend. "What's wrong with today?"

A flash of realization flickered on his face, and Connie bowed his head. "Nothing. I don't wanna talk about it."

"You're the one who brought it up!"

"Yeah well now I'm not! Just forget it!"

"Connie, what the hell—"

"Who wants pizza?!"

"Me!" Marco raised his hand. "I would like pizza!"

Jean still kept his eyes focused on Connie, but took the slice offered to him, hoping for some sort of leeway into what upset him. The photographer, however, had the defensive walls he had up out of habit. Whatever had bothered him wasn't going to come out unless he allowed it. And he did; after a few minutes of silent eating, he spoke in a voice heavy with disappointment.

"I asked Sasha out. And she said 'no'."

The musician rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Oh God. You can't be serious."

"No—look, it's not like that. I don't get butthurt if I get denied. I get butthurt when someone denies what we did that explains why we should date."

"What do you mean?" Marco asked. "What did she say?"

"Well, after Annie told me what we did, I…sorta realized that we need to stop avoiding each other and just date already. And I still like her, so I'm up for it. But she says it never happened. Like, dead-serious, stone-cold, 'We never kissed'. And it…it just hurt, man. I really thought she would agree with me."

"Sounds like she's in denial."

"I think she is. I mean, if even Annie says we should date already, I think it's time to take her advice. But…not to Sasha. Because we never kissed."

"Sorry about that, Con," Jean frowned.

"Thanks, man, but…I'll be alright." He offered a smile at his friend, though it was weak and unconvincing. "And hey, maybe she'll realize it soon and change her mind."

After they both finished their slices, Jean and Marco returned to cuddling one another with contentment. Connie had left the room to talk with Armin and Bertolt, leaving them to talk in private once again.

"Hey Jean?"

Despite his drooping eyes, the Virginian yawned and glanced over to his boyfriend. "Yeah?"

Marco was silent for a brief moment before he ducked his head and placed it into the crook of Jean's neck. "I really, really like you," he admitted in a whispered tone. "Can you promise me that we'll stay together, even if we're just friends?"

The musician scoffed at that—not out of spite, but because the question was said in a voice so small and so sad that it nearly broke him inside. Even if they were on separate coasts, he would still keep a relationship with the vegan chef. They had had such a long line of communication and friendship that it would be silly to even want or think about ending it intentionally. Last time had been an accident and lack of responsibility. There was no way that would happen now and their relationship, both romantic and as friends, had strong hopes of surviving. Jean pulled the taller closer to him and pecked the top of his head.

"I promise I'll do anything for you."

x-x-x

_Two Days Later_

"Alright, lover boy. Spill the beans."

Reiner Braun was an interesting character. He acted as a big brother to their group of friends yet was the youngest in terms of whose birthday came last. As bold as brass and as proud as a peacock, he adored his friends more than anything and wanted the very best for them. He wasn't very successful in the romantic department, though he liked to think he was, and his attempts brought laughs from Bertolt more than intended. Under his armored exterior of muscles and height was a warm teddy bear who brought laughter wherever he went and was easily scared by horror movies despite his addiction for them. For Jean, their nine years of friendship had gone along those guidelines, accompanied by a Ben and Jerry's when needed and the first helping hand.

However, Reiner was hardly ever discreet. He spoke honestly and bluntly, and had hardly any filter. When he wanted to know something, he would push for an answer, demanding and determined to find it. Jean knew him better than others, however, so his tricks and methods to get said responses were a waste of time on him.

"I don't have any beans to spill," the musician shrugged, moving closer in the food line he was currently standing in. Bertolt and Annie, however, stood in his way to prevent him from moving up any closer. Of course; this was going to be a joint effort. And where would Reiner be if he didn't have his two closest friends—one being his boyfriend—by his side to help him out? He sighed; "C'mon, Rye, there's nothing to talk about."

"If there's nothing to talk about, then why were you acting different this morning?" The tall blond pointed out. "You were up early—on a Monday—and you were singing in the shower—"

"I was not singing!"

"Humming counts as singing."

"So what? That doesn't make a difference!"

"They do when you're a grumpy asshole who usually has to have five cups of coffee to socialize in the morning!"

"Reiner, you're yelling," Annie interjected calmly before putting her breakfast order in.

Reiner relaxed visibly, and let out a long breath. "Right, right, I'm calming down. It's why I'm gonna be a lawyer, y'know?" He grinned, causing the tense atmosphere to lessen and even getting Jean to smile in return. "Gotta warm up the vocals."

"At the rate you're going at, they'll be straining by the time you take the bar exam, then, huh?"

The taller laughed, patting the musician on the back roughly. "Exactly! Though part of the blame for that falls on the guy I have in my bed every night, right Bertl?"

Bert scoffed and rolled his eyes despite the tint of scarlet against olive skin, and he spared the duo a glance. "Don't talk so casually about something private like that, first off," he chided. "A-and second, just leave Jean alone. He's not bothering anyone except for you with his 'secret', and he won't tell you, no matter how hard you push him."

Reiner snorted; "Well, when you put it like that, it just sounds sinister."

"Your nose is big enough as it is," the tiny blond beside them commented. "Get it out of other people's business."

"At least I don't have a trunk like _you_."

Jean took this moment in the conversation–if there even was one at this point–to glance at his phone for the time. He still had time to eat before Zacharius's class, and he found a new text from Sasha upon this discovery:

_hey it's Marco can you please get me some blueberries before you come back? i forgot to get some when I was up there :(_

Instead of responding, the two-toned-haired male put in his order and requested a side of blueberries as well. He would have the addition be a surprise rather than an expectation. It wasn't the best method, and it was still lame, but it was a surprise nonetheless.

"I didn't know you ate blueberries," Reiner mused quietly as they moved down the line, Bertolt and Annie having gone to grab drinks for them. "Trying something new?"

Jean paused before answering; as much as this session had been irritating, the truth would get out eventually. "Yeah, no, Marco asked me to get some for him. He forgot to get some when he was getting his food."

"Uh-huh." The taller nodded, ordering his own breakfast before he turned and leaned back against the extended metal counter. "You know, you two have been really quiet the past few days. You didn't come out yesterday or Saturday either, even to eat."

"Connie brought us sandwiches. We were sore." _Good job, Kirschtein, that'll really convince him._

"From what?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm just curious."

"Well, we were sore from Friday night. Didn't really sit that much."

"Did you lie down?"

"We didn't have sex."

"I never said that."

"Reiner, can you do us all a favor and go fuck yourself?"

"Harsh, but that's what I have Bert for. That and morning kisses, which are possibly the best thing in the—oh come on, Jay, you're not making it easier!"

Jean already had his food and was walking back to their table to eat as Reiner called after him. He was wasting time talking to a nosy smartass when he could be spending time with the person in question. He plopped down at their nearly-filled table, beside Sasha and across from Marco, both who greeted him happily. It calmed him down, thankfully, and lowered his anger level before it was let out on those who didn't deserve it either way.

"Did you get my text?" The Californian asked, drizzling some hot sauce onto his eggs.

"You can text without a phone?" Jean wondered with a small tilt of his head. “I didn’t know technology was so advanced these days.”

The "intervention trio" returned at that point, Annie placing a Styrofoam cup in front of him. Neither of them said anything, but the tallest of the three shot him a sympathetic look as they sat down.

Marco chuckled at his question. "I sent it from Sasha's phone. I asked if you could get me some blueberries because I forgot to get them?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did." The musician popped one of the berries into his mouth, but only reminded him of his strong dislike for them. "Ew. Tastes blue." "

That's why they're called blueberries. Silly boyfriend."

"Eugh. How do you eat those regularly?"

"Because I have a refined palette."

"Shut up and eat your fruit."

Marco laughed, and nudged his foot gently under the table. He sent a tap back in return, and the game continued on throughout the rest of breakfast.

x-x-x

Later that night, Fiji and AOPi threw a surprised birthday party for Armin as planned. It had taken a while—mostly because Ymir dropped and broke an unopened bottle of wine and had to deal with cleaning the mess left over—but it was worth it in the end. The homemade cake looked (and supposedly tasted) good, and the birthday candles with the numbers "21" reversed to read "12" added to the relaxed yet humorous atmosphere. There was no urgency or tenseness in the air. Even Jean and Eren were able to joke around and avoid fighting at all costs. Unfortunately, the musician knew that it wouldn't last for long. He was expecting the conversation from breakfast to reappear sooner or later. He didn't expect, however, Annie to be standing behind him once he was in the kitchen and getting plates for the others.

"Shit—" The unopened package of paper plates dropped to the ground on his feet, but he ignored the dull ache to gawk at the shorter. "Halloween was a couple days ago. I think we can stop scaring people now."

"I was sent to help," she answered coolly. Her ice blue eyes pierced into amber, though it was hard to tell if she was telling the truth or if she had been sent in for another purpose.

"I don't need any."

"I know. That's why I was sent here and didn't volunteer myself."

Jean let out a sigh as he placed the plates back on the counter. "I figured. You're not really known for helping out willingly."

"Hm. Depends on the person. Reiner still wants to know about your relationship with Marco."

"Tell the asshole that him apologizing through text and then continuing on with this is not going to help him out in the long run."

Annie hopped onto the counter and scoffed. "You think he doesn't know that? Or that he cares?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"Why won't you just tell him?"

"Because it's none of his business. It’s only mine and Marco’s."

"Like I said, he doesn't care. He's gonna find out sooner or later."

Jean paused to gaze up at the blonde, meeting the same icy yet calm stare he had seen countless times before. Annie was more observant than most; even if she hadn’t admitted to it, she knew what was going on between him and Marco. There must have been something they had done that only she would see as an affirmation to their relationship. To reveal their current standings would be confirming her predictions, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear or admit to just yet. “Look. There’s nothing else to say on the matter. Marco and I are…a couple. We wanted to keep this on the down-low until we got used to it, not have it shouted from the rooftops. We're not all prideful lions who have to know everything that happens every day.”

The tiny female hummed at that, her elbows resting on her knees and her chin perched atop her knuckles. She was silent, processing the information given to her, and then nodded firmly. “I had a feeling that had happened.”

“You just had a feeling?”

“And the fact that you two were playing footsie under the table this morning.”

“Should I even ask how you know that?”

“No.”

“Of course not."

As silence drifted between the two, Annie hopped off of the counter to lean against it. She took a brief pause before asking, "And you're happy with him?"

His initial answer was, above other things, snarky, and would probably land him with a good punch to the face. However, considering the fact that this question was serious and involving his freckled friend—boyfriend?—the musician found himself answering honestly. "I am. The happiest that I've been with anyone."

"Then nothing else matters, right? Isn't that what romance is?" A particularly loud shout from the other room caught the duo's attention briefly, and Annie's expression transformed into a pained grimace. "You know, I talked to her about what's been going on, with her and Eren."

When they were nine, Mikasa's parents had gotten into a car wreck that took both their lives. She was adopted to the Jaeger's, family friends that lived five blocks away, a year before Eren's mother passed away. After that, with Dr. Jaeger working more and disappearing from their lives gradually, Mikasa and Eren were left with each other to take care of. Armin helped in whatever way he could, from shelters in bad storms to home-cooked meals. He could relate to them because he only had his aging grandfather, both parents having left him behind to go on their own adventures. It had been that way for years, and the trio had gone through thick and thin, side by side. Now, even in their young adulthood and a faithful girlfriend by her side, Mikasa still drifted towards her adopted brother. It wasn't intentional; she was simply wary of losing what little family she had left to the real world. As one group, there was hardly anything to worry about. Being divided meant a bigger chance of losing Eren to whatever force was strong enough to remove him.

"Can I ask how it went?" Jean asked; he didn't want to pry, but he had struggled with Mikasa's affection countless times before. He was practically an expert in this field.

Annie shrugged, as if her problem was something simple, but her tone of voice revealed that this was more complicated than she was letting on. “There’s not a lot to talk about. She didn’t know what she was doing until I told her. She says it’s just her instincts. I can’t hold that against her. I would say that we’re fine, but…that would be lying.”

“It’s progress, then.”

“In a way, yes.”

The taller nodded at that and leaned against the counter beside her. “Are you happy with her?”

Her head turning quickly, she stared up at him in confusion. “Happy?”

“Yeah. You know, that…feeling you get in your chest when you’re doing something you enjoy, or when they smile at you and you know they don’t do that for anyone else. Do you get that with her?”

“I do.”

“Then there’s not really a lot to worry about, right? That’s all that matters.”

Annie snorted and rolled her eyes. “That’s copyright infringement.”

“But it worked.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, horseface!” Eren shouted from the living room. “You were supposed to bring the plates, not eat them!”

Jean sighed, picking the plates up from the ground and unwrapping them before he headed for the rest of the party. “Sometimes, I just want to throw him six feet under and bury him there.”

Annie, as soft as it was, chuckled in response. “You’re not the only one.”


	16. Candles and Thanks, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is one of my favorite chapters. I don't even know why. It just is.
> 
> The reason why this says "Part 1" is because the Thanksgiving event was supposed to be one chapter, but then this part turned into something entirely different from what I had planned, so I had to put it into two parts, eheh. But hey, what can you do?
> 
> No, this is a good chapter. It gives us some cute babies, some fun times, maybe a little bit of foreshadowing, but you guys don't know that.
> 
> You are unstoppable.

_Three weeks later: Thanksgiving_

“Who are you texting?”

Marco jumped at Jean’s soft mumble against his ear, and huffed, shoving him away. “It’s just Sasha,” he replied as the musician plopped down beside him.

“‘Just Sasha’?” The shorter quirked up an eyebrow at that. “What the hell is she asking for, food?”

“No, she’s not—eh, well, she’s asking _about_ food. Does that count?”

“Depends on what she’s asking. They’re cooking dinner, right?”

The freckled male shrugged, curling against his side. Jean rested his head atop his in return. “Sasha said it really can’t be considered cooking; apparently, Ymir has no idea what she’s doing, and everything they’re taste-testing tastes, and I quote, ‘like shit that’s hanging from a dead dog’s ass’. So…”

“So she’s asking you for tips on a dinner that they’re responsible for.”

“More or less, yeah.”

“Heh. Told you they can’t cook.”

“Actually, you said that you beat Sasha in a cooking contest last year, and that Annie can cook if she wanted to. Then you said that Ymir doesn’t know a tablespoon from a teaspoon, and started to rant about ‘uncultured swine not knowing the difference between their measurements’.”

“Details, details.”

“Now that I think about it, though, you didn’t know the difference either when you made breakfast last Saturday and almost committed mass homicide with a ladmm—”

The Virginian quieted the taller by pressing their lips together, one hand reaching up to run gently underneath his chin. Marco laughed softly and only kissed back in response, his lips plump and soft against his own.

It has been three weeks since Jean and Marco had started dating, and, as expected, there was little to complain about. They had only gone on four dates so far (they weren't sure to count the most recent one, seeing as they watched movies with Connie and Sasha, who weren't dating), though by choice. They were both in agreement that they wanted to go slow. The rest of Fiji and AOPi acted as if very little had changed among them, although there was more teasing from certain individuals. It was something they had gotten used to over the past weeks. They were even able to get Marco a mobile phone, a pleasure he was slowly yet surely learning how to use and get used to.

In contrast, however, what the new couple couldn't simply get past was their changed relationship status. They were still as close as they had been before; they made jokes and teased one another, and their note-passing in Psychology, if anything, increased. It was the added anticipation of holding hands, of kissing one another, of staying close to his side under fluffy blankets, that was simply too good and too indulging to get used to.

“Oh my God, no, if you have sex on this couch, I will burn you both with it.”

The duo broke apart to look up at the speaker—Eren, with Connie right beside him—and Jean snorted. “Don’t worry, shitface, we’re not gonna do anything you wouldn’t do.”

“Unless there’s something you’re not telling us,” Marco teased with a light smirk. The more time he spent with Fiji, the more he revealed himself to be just as mischievous as the others. It was small and slight teasing, yet he always made it appear to be something more than what it initially was. When he said something with that expression, it was his attempt to let the other know he knew something about them that they didn't want revealed to anyone else. "Are you sneaking off to go see someone _special_ ~?"

Eren had opened his mouth to respond, but his face turned red almost instantly, and he stomped away from the trio without another word. The dark-haired male raised his eyebrows, and looked up at his boyfriend.

"I wasn't serious when I said that."

“He has been spending a lot of time out, though,” Connie mused. "Wasn’t that thing with helping Levi and shit supposed to end last week?”

“Be careful, Con, you’re thinking; you might hurt yourself,” the musician warned as he sat up. “If Earen can find someone to love his emotional, overreacting, asshole self, then I’m related to Chad Kroeger.”

“Please don’t make that joke ever again,” Marco groaned.

The shortest shrugged. “Agreed. But hey—if _you_ of all people can be dating somebody, then that means everyone else has a chance too. Remember when we had that talk?"

Jean rolled his eyes with a grunt; “Doubt it. I got lucky.”

“So our relationship is a game of luck now?” The Californian inquired, his mouth falling downward into a lopsided, disappointed frown. "Gee. I thought I was a little bit better than just being sheer luck."

“No, Mar, I was kidding—" Marco sputtered into giggles, and Jean's face held a frown before he smacked his boyfriend's arm. "Stop smiling, you jerk, that’s not fucking funny!”

"But you actually thought I was upset with you!"

"You're such an asshole!"

Since they had attended college two years before, it had been a tradition for their friends to get together for Thanksgiving and spend time with one another (as if they didn’t do that enough already). Freshman year, they had been invited by the Kirschteins to spend the holiday at their home, but last year, as they would be doing in the current year, they spent it on campus and actually cooked a decent meal. Ymir, however, had offered to cook this time around, and everyone (even her girlfriend) was fearful of the consequences that would fall upon them. AOPi was known for several things, but cooking home-cooked meals was not one of them. At the very least, Fiji offered to make dessert, and had actually done it well and without the newly invited Pike's help, though that still didn’t set aside the fact that dinner could be horrible.

About two hours later, at four-thirty, the seven left the house and walked across the street to AOPi’s home, the two pies and the platter of cookies in hand. Instead of knocking, like any other person would, they walked into a house currently in shambles. The girls tried to keep their house organized and neat, though there were times when it looked horrible enough to be the aftermath from a stampede. Clothing—particularly shoes and sweatshirts—littered the floor. Book bags, textbooks, and school supplies decorated their living room precisely and delicately, as if their placement had been planned. Currently, the kitchen was especially messy, with ingredients and pans and Thanksgiving foods scattered all over the island and counters. Most of the ingredients were already opened, yet some of the food for their meal looked badly cooked. The cranberry sauce resembled cherry ice cream; what must have been stuffing looked more like it was the insides of a stuffed toy; and it was unknown if there was gravy or soggy milk in a bowl.

In the center of it all was Ymir, brown hair pulled back in a loose bun and still dressed in a tank top and Snoopy pajama pants. Some flour was plastered on her jawline and temple, and there were several spots of red, orange and brown on her now ruined top. A look of concentration and determination was on her face, and when she looked up to see the new arrivals, she tensed immediately and defensively raised a cutting knife in front of her.

"Not a fucking word," she warned. "If any of you say one word about this, I will carve out your brain stem and serve it as the main course."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too," Reiner snorted.

"Ymir, put down that knife!" Historia skidded into the kitchen and, grabbing the hilt of the utensil from the taller girl, set the knife on the countertop. "Stop threatening people with that!"

"She did it more than once already?" Eren wondered, and started to head for the fridge. Ymir reached for a ladle this time, and he nearly dropped the pie from how fast she moved, but the tiny blond took it from him and set it in there herself.

"Please ignore her right now. She's just stressed and has been trying to cook all day and she hasn't sat down for a wine break."

"I'd be doing better if everything didn't taste like shit hanging from a dead dog's ass."

"It doesn't taste like that, stop!"

"Yes it did!" Sasha called from upstairs, and Historia let out an exasperated sigh. She, too, was still in her pajamas, and her normally flawless hair was a much sloppier resemblance to bed head.

"It's been a long day already," she stated, and her shoulders visibly sagged. "First, we thought we had proper decorations in the extra bedroom, and then we realized we had more white than red wine, and _then_ we almost burned the house down trying to do everything else that needs to be done–"

"Why don't you let us take care of things?" Armin offered.

Marco nodded in agreement, and smiled; "Yeah, we could totally do that! That way, it'd take less time trying to prepa—"

"Don't even finish," Ymir snapped darkly. The knife barely made it up in the air to threaten him before Historia took it from her. "You can help anyone else, but keep your asses out of the kitchen. Especially _you_ , you freckled hippie."

Marco nodded meekly. "Understood."

In the end, Fiji agreed on splitting up chores around the house to help the girls out. Eren and Reiner helped Sasha set the table and making the dining room suited for a dozen students. Historia, Armin, and Connie tidied up and cleaned the rooms that would be in use. Bertolt and Annie went back to Fiji's house to grab any required ingredients (especially and including red wine) for Ymir. It left Jean and Marco with Mikasa, who was working with Sasha and finding anything that would be appropriate for their dinner.

"There's not really a lot for you to do," Mikasa admitted. She appeared more presentable than the rest of her housemates, dressed in jeans and a sweater, but she looked just as tired as they were. "I've looked in all of our bedrooms so far, but I still haven't found anything that we used last year."

"Do you think you left it over at Fiji?" Marco suggested, cautiously opening the hallway closet to peer inside and search. "They hosted it last year, right?"

"Yeah, but we didn't have anywhere to keep it," Jean explained, currently searching through a bin, "so we gave it to the girls."

"And none of us knows where we put anything," sighed the shortest of the trio. She walked out of the closet she was searching in, from the spare room, and placed a colorful yet empty Easter basket on the desk. With five girls in AOPi, including two pairs who shared rooms, only three out of four rooms on the second floor were used as bedrooms. The fourth was a combination of a study and a relaxation room, where one could meditate or study for a test in peace. However, it was also nowhere near as tidy as some of the other rooms. "It's not a lot of stuff, but it's stuff that we need."

"Like the fancy plates and the vase that Reiner almost broke and the candle holder that we called 'Lumiere'?"

"Yes."

"Tch. Come on, Kasa, those were important."

"I was washing dishes, not babysitting inanimate objects. It wasn't my responsibility to take care of them and put them somewhere safe so we could use them again."

The Californian pulled a box down from a high shelf in the hallway closet, and held it with one hand as he peeked inside. "This looks promising," he offered, and placed it on the available space of a desk. He dug through it briefly and pulled out an unopened pack of candles, and a single brass candle holder. "Will this work?"

Mikasa glanced over at it and nodded curtly. "It's fine with me. Go show it to Sasha, see what she thinks."

"Got it!" Marco saluted her with a grin and headed downstairs, leaving the duo in a silence that sent Jean's head into a mixture of nausea and déjà vu. He briefly recalled Connie and Reiner doing something similar when they were in high school—they left them to talk on their own while saying "Safe sex is fun sex"—but this was different. Although both were in committed, happy relationships, it still caused a churning in his stomach whenever he was left alone with her. Mikasa was beautiful, he couldn't deny that: raven hair that brushed her shoulders delicately; skin as smooth as porcelain; eyes a stormy grey that could be as hard as steel. Plus, she was intelligent and athletic, a combination he had appreciated to the point of obsession when he was younger. He cared deeply for Marco, but there was still a part of him that appreciated Mikasa.

"So," he began with precision and caution, "I heard you and Annie are doing alright."

The female looked over at Jean briefly, almost as if to ask him what he was doing, and then nodded. "We are," she confirmed. "We're doing very well."

"Good. That's good."

"…if you want to go out with me—"

"Wait what—"

"You know I was never interested in the first place—"

"Okay, no, I—what?!" The musician stared at the shorter with disbelief and shock as an embarrassed flush of scarlet took over his face. This was far from what he expected or wanted to hear. "I never had that thought in my mind, I already moved on from that—I mean, what?!"

"You always seem to have something to say to me that's flirtatious or romantic. I was mistaken, and I apologize."

Jean shut his eyes, fingers pressed against his temple, and he let out a long exhale. "It's fine, it's not a big deal… I mean, it's not like that never happened before."

"It was still rude to assume, though." Mikasa carried on with her work, as if nothing had happened in the first place. She was just who she was as she had been in high school: when she was focused, there was nothing that could hold her back, even her mistakes. "You like him?"

"Huh?" Jean broke out of his trance to look up at the shorter.

"Do you like him?" This time, she gazed up at the musician; a slight bit of interest was in her eyes when she looked at him. "Marco?"

"Yeah. I do."

Mikasa hummed and nodded; she hauled another bin, this one smaller than the first, over to him. "You two work well together. You need someone to keep you grounded."

"Gee, thanks for the consideration."

"I didn't say it to be spiteful, and you know that."

"Yeah, well, you're one to talk. You need someone to pull you away from Eren's side. You'll still be together if you're not attached to him."

Mikasa looked up at that with a glare, grey eyes as piercing as daggers. She still hadn't left from her spot by the bin, making the space between them very minimal. "You have no right to talk about that."

"And you didn't have the right to talk about my relationship, but you still said it. 'Sides, it's not like I'm completely lying."

"Stop while you're ahead, Jean. It'll only end up hurting you."

The musician snorted and rolled his eyes. "I've already been there and done that with you."

With a clearing of his throat, Marco gathered their attention and placed the candlesticks and the holder back in the box. However, it was rough and with a clang, and the noise startled the other two from their conversation. "Sasha says it doesn't match the other ones we have," he replied, curt and to the point. Something has changed during his time moving from one space to another, and Jean wasn't sure what. All he was certain of was that this was a Marco who was bothered by something he would hold inside and push away until further notice, a habit he had pulled on his own.

"Well, I found the one that matches the others," Mikasa informed him, gesturing to the holder sitting upright near her feet.

"Why don't you go show it to Sasha, then?"

With a nod, the dark-haired female grabbed the required materials and headed downstairs. As soon as she was out of earshot, Jean moved beside Marco, but was hastily given the back of his shirt instead. "Mar, what's up?"

"Nothing's up," the vegan answered with a shrug, his tone one of simplicity yet bleeding with irritation. "Everything's fine. 'Whats up' with you?"

The Virginian grabbed his wrist and stopped him from sorting through the box. Despite his tugs, Jean refused to release him until he got a proper answer. "Stop playing games, Marco. I'm being serious."

Marco, eyebrows furrowed downward, clutched onto the hand that was holding his wrist and forced away the fingers holding onto him. There was a rare glint of fury in his eyes, something that had never been there for as long as he had known him in person, that was out of place in eyes that were normally warm and loving. "I said that everything is _fine_."

"And I told you to stop playing games."

"And I don't see how you can't understand that _everything_ is _fine_."

"Marco, quit it. If everything's 'fine', then I'm straighter than you."

"Well if that's the case, then it looks like you already have your answers."

Marco had once again started to go through the box in front of him, but he was roughly shoved away from it. Jean stood between him and the desk, hands clenched and grasping the taller male's shoulders. "What the fuck is wrong with you right now? You were fine before you left to see Sasha, and now you're obviously mad about something. And don't even think about telling me that that's not true, because I can read you better than anyone, and I can tell when things are fine and when things aren't." He let the words sink in, a pause to catch his breath, his grip lessening faintly. "Is this because of what I said to Mikasa?"

Dark chocolate eyes had lowered to gaze at his feet at the question. An embarrassed flush overcame his cheeks and ears, resembling the shade of a tomato. The Californian choked out a whisper; "She's better than me in a lot of ways."

The cold anger that had been in him before dwindled down at the words and the sight of the saddened chef. The lowered gaze, the drawn shoulders, the lips drawn downwards–it wasn't normal whatsoever. And if Marco truly felt that way, then who else to show him otherwise than himself?

Jean, without saying a word, released Marco's shoulders and intertwined their hands with a firm squeeze instead. He pulled the taller to the bathroom across the hall, turning on the light and positioning both of them in front of the mirror. "Alright," he sighed. "What do you see?"

The musician had come to love several new things since he had met his long-time friend face-to-face that he hadn't been able to appreciate before. He was unable to hear his voice until last month, and he had fallen for it as soon as he had heard the sound. It was smooth and soft, every syllable accented with tenderness that added to Marco's natural caring nature. Just as much as he was kind-hearted and genuine, as depicted in his letters, his outward appearance was just as pleasant. For ten years, he had only received two pictures of the Californian, both times from graduation. Seeing him after seven years of not having any visual of him was entrancing to see something he had imagined throughout all of high school.

Marco's face was a soft oval shape, his jaw smooth and his cheeks round. Although his face held boyish qualities, there was a mature nature captured among his features that could uniquely represent him and no other. Freckles scattered over his body, but primarily across his face and the bridge of his nose, a reflection of the stars that appeared at night and a nice compliment to olive skin. His hair was a dark brown, almost black, and perfectly parted down the middle. It matched his eyes, shining with genuity and a loving nature only he could possess, and that in turn reflected onto his smile, always wide, always present, always bright. In a general sense, he was fit and, even with his specific yet limited lifestyle in terms of food, his arms and chest were well-defined with muscles. His legs were long and sleek, often curling beneath him if he was sitting. Although they hadn't gone farther than making out, amber eyes and piano-plucking hands certainly had wandered over his behind many times to find two firm cheeks that left little to the imagination.

Two things stuck out to him more than anything, however. One was his smile of varying levels: gentle and sweet, joyful and exuberant, loving and tender, sultry and provocative. It could light up a room and never failed to create other faces in its wake. His hands stuck out just as much as his smile, and still took him by surprise. Initially, he hadn't focused on them for long, but Marco's had turned out to be coarse and firm from continual holds of cooking utensils. The only sign of his trademark freckles remained on his knuckles and nowhere else, a lone constellation among empty space. His fingers were long and thin, and when their palms connected and their fingers entwined, it was nothing short of a perfect fit.

However, when the Californian looked back at Jean, it wasn't with an easy-going, happy nature. It was one of sadness and despair, something that could only come from one's own mind. "I don't see anything special, Jean," he whispered. "It's just my reflection."

"For you, maybe," the musician replied back in a voice just as low, "but I don't see that." His eyes darted back to the mirror, looking at Marco there to get a proper look at him. "I see a lot of things, and none of them are 'just a reflection'."

"Jean, it's not anything special to see! It's there—I'm here—there's nothing special about me! I'm just a chef who can't eat half of what he makes and who will never be able to tell if the meat is good enough to eat or not! I'm not gonna go anywhere with my life because I wasted too much time dreaming to focus on reality!"

"Wait, what?"

Marco quieted down after his yell, taking a seat on the rim of the tub and glaring at his hands. Jean sat beside him; he didn't reach over to touch him just yet, choosing instead to wait until he spoke. However, when nothing was said for a long while, the sounds of tonight's celebrations underway, a small knot of worry welled up inside the Virginian. He didn't know the full story of his boyfriend's outbursts, and it made him anxious to think that someone so good was suffering from something so bad. If there was someway for him to help, he wanted to know of it fast.

"Marco…"

"I don't know what you see in me," the dark-haired male started, "but we don't see the same thing." He looked up at Jean, eyes broken with unshed tears. "There's nothing great about me, Jean. I'm a chef from San Diego, one of the nicest cities in the country, and I barely had enough money for food. I graduated seventh in my class because I got sick junior year and missed two weeks of school. I look like a twelve-year-old, my face looks like a leopard. Even my cooking is mediocre. I've never gone to a proper cooking class in my life. Everything I know is self-taught. Whatever you see in me…," he scoffed and bowed his head, gazing at his hands once more, "it must be pretty good compared to my shitty views."

Jean took a moment to let the words sink in before he reached over and intertwined one of their hands together, palm to palm. "For starters, I don't have a 'pretty good' view," he stated. "You’re more than that. You’re a…a pretty fucking good view." Marco snorted, albeit quietly, at that, and the shorter smiled. "Either way, I don't see what you see, because what you see is…bad. And it’s not you. I love you, Mar, but for a happy person, you really overlook the good."

"That's because there is no good."

"Cut the shit, will you? If you were as bad as you made yourself out to be, would I be sitting here in the bathroom of my frat's twin sorority?"

"Women's fraternity. And you can be cleaning right now."

He shot the Californian a glare that silenced him immediately. "Would I have even written back at all, throughout all the years that we wrote to one another? If you're as bad as you say, would any of that have mattered? For ten fucking years, we wrote to each other, and I don't regret a single one of those moments, because I learned so much about you, and yet we lived on opposites side of the country. I saw a whole lot of good in you, and I still do today. You're funny, you're genuinely kind, you want what's best for everyone—hell, you're a lot better person than I was at any age, I can tell you that much. Even if you can't see it, I can. You're an amazing person, and I don't care how you lived in San Diego, or how you learned to cook, because that's not important to me. You're attractive and talented, and you're from California, with a great smile and an even greater personality. And your freckles are fucking perfect."

He ended his rant by raising their entwined hands and kissing the top of his boyfriend's before he connected their lips, briefly yet sweetly. Marco's cheeks flushed red, but there was a smile on his face and a few stray tears that had fallen down his cheeks. Jean cleared them away with a quick swipe of his thumb.

"That helped a lot," the Californian sniffled, reaching for a tissue from the countertop.

"What, the kissing, or the thumb thing?"

Marco shot him a weak glare that was quickly broken by their soft laughter. "You're a loser."

"You're a smelly one."

"Smell doesn't define a person."

"Unless you haven't showered in a week."

"You're so gross, why do I like you?"

"Hah. I ask myself that question a lot. 'Why does he like me?'"

A look of alarm crossed over Marco's face at that, and he straightened up immediately. "I was just kidding, Jean!"

"I know that. But I wasn't." When the serious stare didn't leave, Jean let out a sigh. All he had wanted to do was to make Marco happy, to do something nice for someone he cared about. He didn't want to go into detail of how he felt about himself. The others would be proud of him; he was doing something for someone else instead of himself. "I don't like myself as much as you don't like yourself."

The taller male's shoulders sagged, and he let out an exasperated sigh before he pulled the two-toned-haired musician up to his feet. "Alright, now it's _your_ turn to look in the mirror."

"No thanks, I might break it."

"Jean!"

“Mikasa probably needs our help still, so we should go help her.”

Jean turned to leave, but Marco easily tugged him back in and sat him down on the edge of the tub once again. “You gave me a pep talk, so now it’s my turn to give you yours.”

“You’re holding me against my will.”

“Like you didn’t pull me in here against mine.”

“That was different; you needed that.”

“Like hell you don’t need it too!” The Californian, kneeling in front of him, grabbed onto his shoulders and shook him gently. “If you honestly think that I shouldn’t be with you because of how you view yourself, then that’s the same thing as saying that I shouldn’t be with you because of how I view myself. I mean, sure there are things that could be better, but isn’t that how it goes for all of us? So what if you can be an asshole sometimes? We can all be assholes sometimes! I was being one to Mikasa earlier. I didn’t have to be one, but I was. It just happens. We don't need to be perfect to be loved. Isn't that what you were telling me before you got all melancholy on me?"

The Virginian snorted and rolled his eyes. "I was not being melancholy."

“You were too being melancholy, don’t lie to me. You may think of yourself as unattractive, which upsets me because you’re not, but you saying that doesn’t hell anyone. You’re attractive and talented, and you're from Virginia, and your brutal honesty makes people think you’re an asshole, but you can be just as kind-hearted and thoughtful as anyone else. You have good in you, Jean. I see it every time I look at you.”

Jean smiled and patted Marco’s shoulder with a slow exhale. “Oh boy, Mar. Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything.” The taller sat beside him, one leg on either side of the bathtub's edge, but held both of his hands in his. “Go ahead.”

“Right.” He let out a long sigh, his gaze kept on their hands, rubbing the top of his boyfriend’s with his thumbs. What he was about to reveal was something that he hardly ever talked about these days, something that he had kept hidden from anyone who wasn’t involved. He wasn’t even sure if Ymir knew what had gone down. “Well, ah…you know how everyone, except for you and Ymir, we’ve gone to school together for years.”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, the boys—me, Reiner, Bert, Connie, Shitface, and Armin—we formed this…club, I guess you could say. We called it the Midnight Jump. It's dumb, I know, but it's pretty…different from what you would think it is. Our first night, we broke into Borders and—”

“Wait, hold on,” Marco interrupted, brows furrowed downward in bewilderment. “You broke into Borders?”

“We didn’t steal anything—this wasn’t normal. We just rearranged everything. You know, little dumb things. We changed the labels on the sections; 'science fiction' and 'autobiography' were switched. 'Military history' was over the audio books. We even rearranged the books alphabetically so that it went from Z to A.”

“But you broke into a Borders—”

“As a stress reliever, yeah. It was my idea. Connie was upset because Sasha was dating this asshole who wasn’t good to her and there was nothing he could do. Bert used it, Armin used it, hell, I even used it. We didn’t do anything violent or completely illegal until we…” The shorter shut his eyes, sighing and pausing before he continued. “We robbed a gas station. And we gave everything back to them before we left, but the cops were still called, and we went down to the station—”

“Holy shit, Jean…”

“The officers didn’t charge us. We explained to them what was going on, and Armin, oh man, Armin…he bailed us out. He somehow convinced the cops to let us go. We got away without taking anything. It’s not even in the fine print of our records. Annie picked us up and took us to her place, and that was that."

Marco leaned against the wall and scoffed, shaking his head. “Wow… Jean…”

“I know, Marco. It’s unbelievable. It’s bad. Hell, we should have been blamed for it. But we didn’t. Which is probably just as bad as what we did, but…I mean, we don’t talk about it. We stopped doing that shit after that night. We just got together at whoever’s house, blasted music, and cooked dinner. Bert’s mac and cheese, by the way? It’s the fucking bomb. But…yeah. That’s basically it.”

The Californian looked back up at his boyfriend with a blank look. It made Jean anxious to see little to nothing on a face that was usually so animated. The actions of the Midnight Jump was something that had been bothering him since they had ended, not so much because of what they had done, but because he had never told Marco. He didn’t want what little of an image had been created to be destroyed because of a twelve-week phase.

“Why did you tell me?” Marco asked, his voice low.

Jean shrugged; “To let you know that I’m far from whatever perfect image you’ve created. To get you some leeway out from an assh—”

The smack that landed on his cheek was abrupt and halted his words from going any further. For a brief moment, however, he was unaware of what had happened to him and could only grasp the side of his face that had been slapped. He wasn't sure where that had come from, or how, but he knew that Marco regretted it, despite the fact that his hands were clenched into fists in his lap. His face was riddled with guilt, yet his mouth held an explanation for the action.

"You're talking nonsense," he said firmly. "I don't care if you're perfect or not; didn't you hear me say that before? I like that you have your faults! They make you who you are. If you want me to leave you because you're an asshole or an idiot, I'm not going anywhere. My mom and Nonna could come here to take me back home to California, and I would stay with you. Even if they were able to somehow get me back, I would make it back to you. You're stuck with me, Jean. And there's nothing you can…"

This time, Jean was the one who cut him off. Not by a slap, not by words, but by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in for a firm hug. Marco froze—out of what, he wasn't sure—but broke out of the reverie and returned the gesture just as quickly, just as carefully, just as lovingly. They had built their own world once again, where only the other mattered and everything else was of little importance.

"Thanks, Marco."

"You're welcome, Jean."

When the duo finally separated, yet still kept him at arm's length, Jean scoffed and shoved his boyfriend, rubbing his cheek with a rising smirk on his face. "And thanks for fucking hitting my face, jackass."

"You were being a jerk!" Marco protested through soft laughter.

"I was being realistic."

"If anything is realistic, it's that red mark I just gave you."

"Tch. Too soon, Mar. It still hurts."

The chef rolled his eyes and sighed, but leaned forward and softly pecked his cheek. "There, I kissed it. Better, whiny baby?"

"Mm, almost. I think you missed a spot." Jean scooted closer to him and purposefully pursed his lips to emphasize his point. "Right here."

"Here?" Marco kissed the other cheek this time, smiling wide and innocent.

"Fucking smart ass, kiss me the right way."

One brief kiss lips-to-lips only led to more kisses and more connection, to the point where the need for air was irrelevant. The musician kept his arms wrapped around his shoulders and dug his hands into the pillow-soft hair. Marco clutched his waist and held him down to keep his turned body from flailing. There was no battle for dominance, no frisky biting, nothing intimate but everything romantic and real.

"Okay, yeah, no, fuck this shit, I'm out! Tori, I'm pissing outside! What's the best plant to pee on?"

Connie disrupted the moment with his yell, causing the duo to jump and nearly sending Jean sliding backwards down into the tub. By the time they separated and straightened up, however, the bald male was already out the room.

"Connie Springer, you are _**not**_ going to be peeing on or in anything that is not a toilet while you are in this house!"

"Jean and Marco are having sex in the bathroom! What do you want me to do?!"

"I'll stop him," Marco sighed, standing up and heading out the door.

"Put in a good word for me when you kick his ass!" Jean called after him.

"I'll be sure to—Connie, we weren't having sex!"

"Bullshit, I saw skin!"

Mikasa stood in the doorway when Jean stood up from the tub. The dark-haired female looked from the commotion downstairs to the male in front of her. "Are you done procrastinating?" She asked in a neutral tone.

"Yeah, I'll be out there in a sec," he replied, stretching and stifling a yawn. Mikasa nodded and left him then. Despite the conversation they had had, he found his eyes drifting over to his reflection to examine himself. There was nothing new about him, and he hadn't gotten any more appealing to his eyes in a few minutes.

In contrast to Marco's appearance, he had a long face (hence the horse jokes) and a sharp jawline. His hair was two colors in reaction to the sun, the top a light wheat tone and the underside a dark brown. There was less of a difference during the winter, but it still maintained its soft texture. His eyes were pools of amber, but were sharp and cruel, and lacked the warmth that Marco's molasses pair contained in them. His body was bony in more places than he would have liked. From his shoulders to his elbows, to his hips to his knees, there was a dagger of a bone rough enough to bruise. It came in handy when he was fighting Eren and had to leave his mark on him, but he despised it any other time. Any rise of his lips was a smirk, which was barely even half of what his boyfriend could produce. His fingers were thin and long, "piano hands" his mom had said, worn from strumming against guitar strings and pressing down piano keys. The tips were especially coarse, however, from the picks he held and his playing sessions. He was a pile of thorns in both personality and appearance, increasing his disgust in himself.

Nevertheless, as he gazed at his reflection this time around, he didn't turn as discontent as he might have at any other instance. There had been numerous attempts by others to rescue him from his self-depreciation, but it had returned as soon as their help dissipated. Marco was, as far as he could remember, the only person to make him look at himself and be satisfied with what he saw. If anyone could make him feel good for once, it was someone who had just as much difficulty looking at himself for the same thing.


	17. Candles and Trust, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for waking up late and not being able to post this when I say that I will, which is 12 EST, and I'm an hour behind, and I don't go to bed until like 4 CT, so as reconciliation I'm going to post the next chapter after this.
> 
> But hey this chapter has some backstories which is cool right? Yeah okay good.
> 
> Also we're at the halfway point chapter-wise of this fic, so. Grab your tissue boxes and trash bins, babes.
> 
> ***WARNING: Implied/reference homophobia in this chapter. And some not-so-pretty backstories. So proceed with caution.***
> 
> You are supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I Googled that spelling.

To make up for not helping Mikasa out, Jean and Marco finished up whatever job she had been doing so that she could get dressed in a presentable manner for dinner. By the time they had stored away the rest of the boxes and tidied up the extra room, it was time for dinner, and the duo made their way downstairs to the growing yet welcoming commotion. Seating arrangements were being made as Ymir lit the last candle that was set up ("Lumiere" had been found, in the end, and was currently in use). The table normally used at the AOPi house was extended on the ends to accommodate for the added guests. The tablecloth, with a design of leaves that were several different shades of red, and decorations on top of the table set the mood for a homemade Thanksgiving meal. The food truly smelled good, and looked edible as well, with little flags sticking up from the middles to tell what the dish was and what was inside. It added a familiar yet comical tone to the atmosphere established, from "mashed potatoes" to "why the fuck is this called 'stuffing'?"

As soon as Marco and Jean were downstairs, Ymir grabbed the Californian suddenly and practically dragged him over to his seat, at the head of the table. "Because you're new to all of this, you are allowed to sit at one end of the table," she informed him, shoving him into the seat by his shoulders. "It's a pretty sick seat, and the second-best one we got, so be grateful, motherfucker."

"Ymir, you need to sit down already," Historia scolded, pushing her girlfriend away from Marco. Her gaze drifted over to the chef's apologetically. "Disregard anything she does that may make you question your presence here."

"Queen Historia, please take your seat at the other end of the table so that we may properly worship you before I put you there myself."

The tiny blonde sighed and walked over to her seat quickly, but not without tugging her girlfriend behind her. Ymir broke free to stand in front of her own chair and looked at the troupe before her. She had changed her clothes at some point, and was dressed in gray slacks and a matching jacket on top of a red blouse. Although it was pulled back and looked as it usually did, Ymir's hair was appropriately styled this time around.

"Welcome to the Second Annual AOPi-Fiji Thanksgiving Collaboration," she began. "It took me the entire fucking day to cook this, and I missed the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade so I could get this meal right the first time, so you assholes better be grateful for it. If you wanna make a thankful speech, they're between dinner and dessert. Don't take forever, because not everyone gives a shit. Oh, also—dessert is when _everyone_ finishes dinner, just in case some people 'forgot' on the way here. I'm looking at you, Sasha and Connie."

"Hey, we were good last year," Sasha huffed. "We only ate _one_ slice of pie and three cookies."

"Doesn't matter; do it again and I'll make sure no one gets dessert. I'll keep it for myself. And the queen, of course. Speaking of which, where's her crown?"

"We never found it," Mikasa admitted.

"Oh, okay, but you can get a perfect GPA. Thanks, Mikasa. Thanks for failing us all."

"Because that's what I wanted to do in the first place."

"Anyway!" Ymir shot a glare at the other female before she focused back on the crowd. "As you all probably know and/or cared to remember, we must make a toast in celebration of us being friends and all that shit, but this year, I want to make it out to the person who's all new to this." Ymir raised her glass of wine, the others doing the same, and nodded to Marco. "Marco Bodt, a.k.a. Freckled Jesus, you may be competing with me for 'Best Face of Freckles', and you may win, but I want you to enjoy yourself, forever and always. Thank you for knowing all of us but your penpal boyfriend and not even realizing it until just a few weeks ago. May you be with us for a whole lot more Thanksgivings, and still be here when you find out we all suck ass and are stuck with each other for life."

"I think I'm flattered?" Marco laughed quietly.

"Just go with it. To Freckled Jesus!"

The rest of the troupe joined in at that and clinked their glasses together before drinking. The brunette, however, was still standing, and nearly slammed her glass down after she took her sip of wine.

"Now, like I said, this is the Second Annual AOPi-Fiji Thanksgiving Collaboration, and you're probably wondering how it came to be such a wide-held tradition."

"Can we just eat now?" Reiner requested with a groan.

"You know what, no, asshole, you can tell the story now."

"Ymir, just cut the fucking turkey."

"No, fuck off."

"Cut the turkey and I'll tell the story."

"Tch. Why are you a lawyer again? You have horrible persuasion methods." Ymir grasped the carving knife in her hand. "I'm only doing this for you."

"Right, because there aren't ten other people who want the same thing."

With a roll of her eyes, the freckled female carved the knife into the turkey and started to pass out pieces to whoever wanted some. Despite the overly rough delivery to Reiner's plate, she made sure that each of the guests, or residents of AOPi, received something to eat before she served herself and finally sat down.

"During our freshman year," Reiner began after a gulp of wine, "the Kirschteins invited us over for Thanksgiving break. Most of us didn't have anywhere to go because our families shut us out, but Mama K wanted to make sure we had _somewhere_ to go, so she invited us over. She had room for us, since there were things going on that Jean can tell you about—"

"They got divorced," Ymir cut in.

"Ymir!"

"They did not get divorced, they took a break from each other!" Jean protested with a sneer, his fork flying out of his hand and onto his plate. It had been no secret to their neighborhood that the Kirschtein family had a struggling marriage, with the blame falling onto their middle child's shoulders after he came out of the closet. In reality, however, the marriage had always been in that state, ever since their youngest son had been born. It had gotten better during the past spring, and their arguments, as far as Jean was aware, were not as often and resolved within the day, sometimes even a couple hours.

"Oh come on, that's totally a divorce!" Ymir exclaimed.

"They got back together and are perfectly fine where they are!" The musician pronounced each word precisely and meticulously, as if it would make it clearer for the other to understand.

"That's what _you_ think."

"That's what they _told_ me. And that's what I've seen too, dumbass."

"If you're asking for a fist in your mouth, I can gladly do that for you!"

"Can I finish the story that you needed to tell so urgently yet are currently interrupting?" Reiner stated, chin in his hand. His expression was strained, as if he was using up all of his energy not to scream. "Because I would like to do that without you two fucking dinner up. Again. For the third time in a row."

"Hey—last year, we were drunk," Ymir pointed out. "And we fixed the window."

"Doesn't matter. Just shut up and let me finish, sweetheart."

"Ooh-hoo, you're pushing it, Rye, I will stab your eye with a turkey leg—"

"Mama K invited us to her house for break," the tall blond, ignoring the rest of her threat, continued telling the story as he looked back at Marco. "She also said that she would cook dinner for us if we got dessert. Apparently, it didn't matter how we got it, but we baked it just to be nice."

"Which is why you cooked dessert from scratch and didn't get a fake," Marco mused.

"Exactly; plus, it's a lot more convenient to bake it rather than buying it and keeping it for a couple days."

"Huh. Understandable."

"But, to get back to the main story: Ymir didn't have anywhere to go, since her family is in D.C. and she couldn't get home to them. So, I asked if I could bring someone else to dinner, and Mama K let me invite her."

"Oh! That was nice of her!"

"Only thing is, though, is that Historia had this, and I quote, 'bitchy, irresponsible thing' she had to call a roommate. We never met her, but we hated her because of how horrible and negative we had heard she was. Turns out that that bitchy and irresponsible roommate was Ymir, and when we sat down for dinner, all Hell broke loose."

"I called everyone rich, white, spoiled kids who can't get a silver spoon out of their mouths and offended everyone in one way or another—and I _still_ stayed for pie," Ymir beamed. "It was a _mess_!"

"Then we were rushing in the spring, same time as Ymir and Historia started dating, and decided to do it again—the Thanksgiving thing, not the fighting. We kept the good parts, like eating together and cooking everything. Bert was our main chef last year and kicked ass on it." Bertolt smiled shyly past his glass at the compliment. "But that's it, basically. Tada. That's why we do this."

Marco nodded slowly, spinning a few vegetables around his plate before speaking once again. "So, about last year's—"

"Marco, no," Jean interrupted immediately. "Don't ask about it."

The Californian, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, tilted his head slightly at that. "Why can't I ask—"

"I'll tell you later. Trust me, you want to keep your food in your stomach."

"That was a dark day," Connie remarked, and Sasha nodded beside him.

"Carl and Joseph were great," she sighed solemnly. “Rest in peace, little friends.”

“They were turkeys, Sash,” Jean stated flatly.

“Yeah, and they were important to us.”

“They tasted good,” Connie reminded her.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. They had little hats!”

"Shit, that reminds me," Ymir mumbled as she shot up from her seat and into the kitchen. "I almost forgot the hat!"

A resounding groan rose from the table at the mention of the hat. "I thought she forgot about it," Eren sulked quietly.

"I'm like an elephant—I never forget a thing." The brunette returned with a top hat in hand. "Another tradition we have, Marco, is that every year, we choose a topic to talk about and have a discussion throughout dinner. Last year, it was about why Greek life is always loaded with the alcohol and the parties—it was not bad, actually. Shout-out to Annie for picking that for us." Ymir patted the short blonde as she walked past her, and then walked to the other side of the table behind Connie. "Con Man, the bald-headed monkey man of cons! Since you called dibs last year, would you do us the honors?"

The bald male, despite the nicknames, grinned with pride as he was presented the hat, and he dug into it to search for a slip of paper. When he pulled back, there was an orange strip in his hand. His face had split into excitement and high expectations as he opened it, but dropped immediately into a dull, disappointed state. "Coming out stories."

This time, the sounds of utensils against plates and the movements to finish up their dinner slowed into a halt. Connie tossed the suggestion back into the hat and sank into his seat with a flustered huff.

"Can I choose another one?"

"No!" Ymir snapped, setting the hat on the kitchen counter before returning to her seat. "No give-backs, you know the rules. You get what you get and you don't get upset."

"Well, you don't have a bad coming out story."

"Neither do you, asshole! You're straight!"

"My parents thought I was gay because I hung around people who were! They kept on asking me to come out to them so they could save me from hellfire and help me climb my way to salvation."

The freckled brunette cackled at that, throwing her head back as she did. "Wow, no offense, but your parents suck ass! Them actually believing that you 'caught the gay' is the most unreasonable reason for someone to be gay!"

"Tch. Laugh it up, Ymir. Because your parents were so supportive of you when you came out of the closet, didn't they?"

"I mean, yeah; you got me there, Con. My mom and dad were pretty much waiting for me to come out. I had so many Barbies marrying each other, they bet money on when I would tell them. They didn't get it, at first, but they're not against it. My mom said 'as long as you're you, and you're happy, then I'm going to support you. Now clean your room.'"

"How touching."

"At least you got something," Eren scoffed, turning his glass in his hand to watch the wine splatter against the sides. "When I told my dad, I don't think he even heard me. I could mention it to him today, and he'd probably be confused. Maybe not angry with it, but definitely confused."

"Still better than being kicked out of your own house," Sasha murmured under her breath.

"Or your parents supporting everyone else when they come out, but being embarrassed when you do," Bertolt added. Reiner laughed, though with little amusement.

"The biggest bullshit I've ever seen," he commented with a shake of his head. "If someone else is gay, that's okay. But if my son is gay, that's embarrassing."

"How dare he shame the family name. And we even had his great-grandkids' lives figured out."

"Fuck, I'm glad they don't talk to us anymore. Too much poison in our lives."

Bertolt nodded in agreement, though Jean could see that he was much sadder than he was letting on. Reiner must have seen it as well, for he kissed the top of his head and whispered something into his ear. Both the Braun's and the Hoover's had cut off their sons once they were in college–not out of anger for who they were, but out of shame and heartbreak. It wouldn't have hit them so hard if it was simply their parents (neither had had a strong parental relationship with them in their later years), but Bert's younger brothers had also been included. They had all been close, and not being able to see them still bothered Bertolt. Neither of them talked about it out loud, but the late night exiles in their room that occurred every once in a while spoke for themselves.

"It’s so ironic how your parents were so quick to cut you off when you were out of the house," Armin broke the brief silence, gaze fixed on the two.

"I know," Bertolt sighed. "I really wish they had at least listened to the story first before cutting us off."

"Reminds me of what happened with my dad," Annie scoffed.

"Your dad was cool," Reiner hummed. "Still is."

"I still can't believe what they did."

"What happened with your dad?" Marco asked quietly, as if merely talking would ruin the fragile atmosphere established.

Annie looked over at him once the question was out. For a brief moment, it seemed as if she was going to disregard him, but then she started her explanation. "My father went to fight in the Middle East when I was eleven. Three and a half years later, he lost both his legs from the knee down in a shrapnel incident. He spent some time in England to fully heal, but he's permanently confined to a wheelchair. The Hoover's and Braun's excluded him when he tried to reach out to them, because my mom ran away with someone else as soon as he was home. She had quit her day job to become a dancer at a strip club, and had as many affairs as she had bones."

"Do you know where she is?"

"I don't. And I don't care to know. She couldn't support us when we needed her. Whatever she's doing right now means nothing to me."

"I'm sorry about that…"

"Don't be. I moved on when I was a freshman. It's done nothing but made me who I am."

"But…don't you ever wish for closure? Like, meeting her and letting her know what you're up to?"

A cold veil passed over the short blonde's features. The question had struck a chord in her, and not for the better. "Someone who left her fourteen-year-old daughter and a husband in a wheelchair doesn't need to know how my life is going."

"Well, what if you did? What if you told her how you felt about her being irresponsible? Or…how you felt about her leaving you for someone else?"

"As if that would help anything. She left when I was fourteen, Marco. I can't do anything about it now. Not everyone can live a happy life with both parents."

Marco grimaced, eyes lowered to his plate and turning around what remained. Jean almost reached out to him before the Californian looked back up at her, without malice or disgust. In fact, it looked more pitying and sympathetic than anything. "My mom was pregnant with her first child when my parents' jobs relocated them to San Diego. She was a journalist who got all the big news stories, he was an entrepreneur and worked in book publishing. They were madly in love and thought that the entire world revolved around each other. The thought of being able to have a complete family was the second best thing to them. But a few days before their plane left, my grandfather died from a heart attack. My grandmother had nowhere to go now. So my dad gave her his plane ticket, and Mom and Nonna ended up going to San Diego on their own. Within a month, my mom had a miscarriage, and she was let go from the news station.

"My dad came a week later just to tell her that he changed his mind and realized that he didn't want to have a future with her. They had one last night with each other to conceive one child as a memory of what they had, and were divorced within three months. Six months after that, I was born. I've never met my dad. I've never seen a picture of him. Hell, the most I've heard about him was when my mom blamed his absence on me being gay. I couldn't tell you who he was if we were in the same room. I'm not trying to one-up you. But I understand what it feels like to not have both parents in your life, especially when you need them there the most."

Annie had relaxed after that, though her hands were still tightly clenched into fists. She didn't say anything in response, nor did it seem like she would be doing so anytime soon. Marco, on the surface, appeared calm and collected, though Jean noticed the tenseness in his muscles and the swarm of emotions, of heartbreak and despair, that laid in his eyes. The chef was holding back what he was feeling to avoid a scene. He wanted to make it appear to the group that he was alright, that he wasn't deeply affected by the problems he was faced with. To know him as well as he did, physically or not, Jean was aware of what he was doing, and how bad it could be when he was finally alone.

"May I ask you something?" Annie finally asked, her voice low.

"Go ahead," Marco responded at the same level.

"What did you mean when you said your mom used your father's absence for you being gay?"

The Californian sighed slowly, his expression twisting into a grimace before he found the words to use. "When I came out to my mom, she didn't understand that it's who I was—or, am. She said that because I never had a father figure in my life, I had turned into a 'homosexual creature'. She's a traditional Italian Catholic, so it's not too surprising… Nonna gave me more support than she did, though. _That_ was unexpected…"

"Sounds ridiculous and typical. I'm…sorry you had to deal with that."

Marco opened his mouth but then closed it, his gaze fixed back onto his plate. Whatever he was going to say was unsaid, even when he nodded in agreement to the statement.

“You know,” Connie began past a mouthful of turkey, looking between the duo, “when Jean came out to his mom, he hid in the closet, and when his mom came in, he walked out and said, ‘Mom, I’m coming out of the closet’. And she just…looked at him and said, ‘why the fuck were you in there?’” He laughed at that, causing a few others, including Marco, at the table to do the same. “She didn’t even focus on the fact that he had come out to her; she just wanted to know why he was literally in the closet.”

Jean noticed, as the table erupted once more into laughter, that his boyfriend, despite a more joyful outer appearance, was still silent and non-genuine in his smiling. In recognizing what Marco appeared to be when he was having a good time, this was much too forced and too unsettling for him to watch. He reached over and grasped the freckled male’s hand gently, giving it a soft comforting squeeze. The chef didn’t look over at him, but he returned the gesture, at first hesitant, but then assured.

It was when dinner and dessert were finally over and the cleanup commenced, Jean and Marco cleaning the dishes that were brought to them, when the Californian opened up to him. It was only the two of them, with the occasional presence of another, in the comfort of their own separate world.

“I want a family,” the taller admitted, hands washing a wine glass as his eyes searched over the clear surface. “Not in the traditional sense, but one that I can fall back on when I need them the most. One that’s not gonna be afraid of me being myself. And I wanna know that I’m gonna be safe when I do. I've… I've never been able to do that. Even with Pike and Chi Omega."

Jean paused briefly in cleaning a plate before he set it in the drying rack. “You wanna be comfortable?”

He nodded slowly; “Yeah…and sitting with everyone tonight made me realize just how much I want to be around people who aren’t gonna look at me and say that I’m a disappointment for liking the same sex.”

The musician shrugged. “You have it already."

"Where?"

"Right here."

"Tch. Right, I do."

"Why else would we invite you over for Thanksgiving instead of being by yourself?"

"You're just saying that."

Jean momentarily paused his work to look at Marco. “You know, when we all first met Ymir, we weren’t sure of what to do with her. She knew a lot about us without having to tell her anything, but she was a total bitch. The more we got to know her, the more we realized she wasn’t all that bad. She was just being herself. So we set her and Historia up with a fancy picnic date during spring break.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because we realized that Ymir wasn’t as bad as we thought, and we started to look at the good things about her, like how she’s crazy about Historia and gave her what you’re looking for now.”

“You talking shit, Kirschneigh, or are you working?” Ymir sneered as she added more utensils to the already full dishwasher and filled it with the proper soap.

“Both,” he snapped back, stepping on her toe with the heel of his foot.

The brunette hissed, and shoved him in return before she looked back up at Marco. Her smile, despite containing her usual mischievous glint, was genuine and contained a friendly warmth. “Be prepared for this one, Mallomars. You may think he’s not like the rest of us lunatics, but you’re in for a helluva ride. Reiner! Where’s the booze?”

Jean nodded towards her as she left them; “See my point?”

“No, actually,” Marco sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I still don’t.”

“You’re part of our family now. We’re the typical college frat kids, and we torture our livers on a weekly basis, but we have each other, as corny as it is to say. We sorta had to if we wanted to survive high school, because there was no one else for us to turn to. And you’re a part of it now, and you’re stuck with it, whether you like it or not.”

The taller stopped cleaning to think on the words, and then he looked up and smiled at the Virginian. However, before he could say anything, the lights flickered and promptly shut off. In response, a loud protest broke off in the house.

“Oh fuck, come on!”

“Did you guys not pay the bill or something?!”

“Shut up, we blew a fuse!"

“I elect Reiner to go down to the basement and turn the lights back on to make up for drinking all the booze.”

“Fuck you, Annie, I wasn’t the only one who drank it!”

“Hold on, we can use the candles—”

“I need to piss, too, shit—Rye, turn the lights back on!”

“Got it, Eren! And then I’ll get myself killed in the process, and you can all play 'Clue' featuring my dead body—quit pushing, Sasha!”

“Sacrifice! Sacrifice! Connie, grab the forks! The spirits of Carl and Joseph will live on!”

“We’re not sacrificing anybody!”

When the power had been cut off, the sink and other kitchen appliances going off as well, Jean and Marco still managed to find one another and to kiss despite the near-darkness that filled the house. The taller whispered his thanks against his lips, hands caressing either side of the musician’s face. For a brief moment, they indulged each other among the sounds of what must have been a fight, though they were both too focused on one another to care about what the others were doing. This was the start of a new journey, and the continuation of another, that would continue on years from now, no matter what they turned out to be.


	18. Holiday and Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, the next chapter to make up for failing a chapter on time.
> 
> ***WARNING: Some handjobs in the second half of this chapter. Look out for that if you are sensitive to such acts.***
> 
> Next chapter still coming out on Saturday, though.

It was during lunch on a Wednesday afternoon, a week before finals, when Connie made an unexpected statement and realization. When Jean looked back at it now, he came to the conclusion that no one had been wanting to hear what he had to say, yet he had shed light on the issue either way.

"Whoa. We're going back home for Christmas break."

Marco and Jean were both buried into the textbook of the class they would be in next, refreshing details and entangling their legs beneath the square table. Sasha, earphones in, skimmed over her notes for her next class. Connie had been doing the same, finishing up his burrito as he did when he had spoken. It broke the duo out of their reverie, and they looked up to glance at the bald male.

"You're just now realizing this?" The musician scoffed. "We've been talking about that for a couple weeks now."

"I know that," he rolled his eyes. "But it's happening. We're gonna have to live there for weeks."

"It won't be that long," Marco shrugged. "It's only, what, three weeks?"

"Exactly, and it'll be like nothing changed," Jean pointed out. "Mar's staying with me, Bert and Rye are gonna chill at Annie's, Charmin's taking in Mikasa and Asshole, Ymir's going with Tori—"

"And Sasha and I go where?

At that, the realization hit him, and the two-toned-haired male groaned. Somehow, at some point, he had forgotten that the dynamic duo didn't have anywhere to go either. "Fuck me."

"You totally forgot, didn't you?!"

"I thought they would grow up and let you stay there! You haven't seen Tommy in what, two years? And you think your sister is gonna remember anything about you if they keep this up?"

"You think they give a shit? I always call them at the holidays and they don't pick up! I don't even know if Mom's still alive. If I showed up at that house, who knows what they would do?"

Jean, who had rested his head in his hands, sat up and let out the breath he had been holding. "Well, if you want, you can just stay in my basement. Mom would be more than happy to have you guys over."

"You don't need to do that."

"Shut up, I'm already texting her." As he spoke, he typed out the message to her. It hadn't been seen yet, though he was sure as soon as it was, he would be receiving a call from her.

Connie huffed and slouched in his seat; "Fine, dude. But if she's not alright with it, I really don't mind going somewhere else—"

"I said shut up; she'll be fine with it. She loves you guys."

"Who loves us?" Sasha interjected with a loud chomp on a chip.

"My mom; you're gonna stay in my basement because all of the Springer's good genes are in Connie."

The brunette pursed her lips at that. "Yeah, I know. They really do suck. But at least we'll be at your place! Do you still have the bunk beds?"

"Probably, I don't kn—"

"Yes!" Both Sasha and Connie exclaimed, high-fiving across the table. Any recent melancholy the photographer had had was gone at the mention of bunk beds.

"Forget your house, Connie, because this Christmas is gonna be _crazy_!" The brunette grinned.

"Fuck yeah—shit, it's almost one," the shortest of the four scrambled to gather his stuff. "As soon as I take this class, I don't have to go back for the rest of the semester."

"Ooh, walk me to class?" Sasha grinned, her stuff also crammed into her backpack. She waited patiently and extended her arm out for Connie, which he took as soon as he was ready.

"See ya, dweebs!" He called out over his shoulder before they were off.

Jean snorted; how she had rejected their bald friend when they were practically made for each other was beyond his knowledge. "One day, years from now, we'll have grandkids, and Sasha and Connie will finally be married," he sighed. Marco only gave a brief hum of acknowledgement, however, causing the Virginian to gaze over at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" He nodded, glancing up at Jean to smile warmly. "Just having trouble studying–it's like math, and how it's difficult to study for? There's not really a better way for me to study for this, so I have to reread this whole chapter."

"Damn, that sucks."

"Yeah, it does… Jean, are you sure your mom be alright with me staying over for Christmas?"

The shorter sneezed, off to the side and into the crook of his elbow, before he answered. "Of course she will; my mom's gonna flip her shit when she meets you. She used to say that she thought you lived next door, because we were such good friends. _Are_ good friends. Boyfriends?"

Marco laughed at the last part, though his smile was still a nervous one. "That's true; it's like she's already met me."

"And that's how she'll treat you; she doesn't give anyone special treatment. Not even me, and I'm her kid."

"So she'll really be alright with it?"

"Mar, my mom could take in a stray pet and treat it like it was lost from home. She did that with Ymir."

"That's right… So it's not too bad."

"Nope. And we fed Ymir every day, and built her a doghouse, and she still turned out alright."

The Californian sputtered, and almost spit his drink out in the process. "Jean, that's so mean!"

Jean only grinned in response before he stood as well and grabbed the dark-haired male's books from the table. "C'mon, we'll be late to class. If you study any more, your head will explode, and there will be messy freckled pieces all over the place."

"Right, right, and then the right side of my body will be missing, and I'll have no arm or eye—"

"Alright, now you're just being a dick."

"Takes one to know one."

"Oh fuck you, Marco!"

"No thanks, that's _your_ job."

"Should I slap you, or kiss you? Better yet, do you even deserve a kiss?"

"Yes, I do!" The duo walked out of the dining hall and outside, past a set of dorms and into the frigid air. Marco's class wasn't far, but Jean would have to head past his class to go to his. "You can warm my lips up so that they'll be nice and warm for you when we kiss again, or when we suck each other's di—"

"Finish that sentence in public, and I'm buying a chastity belt."

Marco's shocked expression was enough to bring a laugh from him, followed by the taller and a swift steal of a kiss. "That's okay, because I'll just pick the lock."

"There is none."

"Then I'll break my way in."

"That's breaking and entering, and it's illegal."

"Not unless it's breaking and entering into your assh–"

"Chastity belt!"

The vegan laughed, a teasing smile on his features. "Without the breaking, but a _lot_ of entering!"

The musician, rolling his eyes, shoved Marco towards the door of his building. "Go to class, you loser!"

"I will, nerd!" The chef shot back, smiling wide. "I'll meet you at Chocobo's for hot chocolate after?"

"Sounds like a date to me." Jean smiled with a nod, though he tugged his boyfriend back for a swift kiss. "Now go be smart."

"I'll try my best!" Marco laughed lightly before he pulled the shorter male's hat down over his eyes. "You be smart too!"

"As soon as I can see, jerk!"

Jean fixed his hat once Marco retreated into the building, frowning when he saw one of the end tassels was coming apart. He would have to see if there was any way to prevent it from falling apart complete. There was a contest between him, Bert, and Historia—the three who wore hats the most—to see who could keep their hat in the best condition for a season. From his pocket, however, a loud vibration erupted against his side, and broke him out of his train of thought. He dug into his jeans' pocket and tugged it out, though he grimaced when he recognized the caller I.D. He answered the call before it ended.

"Hey, Mom."

"Jean Francis Kirschtein, I'm your mother, not the Courtyard Marriott having a fifty-percent-off deal on hotel rooms!"

"I'm doing good, how are you?"

The familiar huff that symbolized Mrs. Kirschtein's disbelief and annoyance with her son came from the other end. Jean could practically see her, hands on her hips, glaring at him yet barely tall enough to be eye level to his shoulder. "I burnt my hand on the stove, Michel has the flu, and Lucas has decided to cause mayhem while he visits by dumping his child at my house. And let’s not forget my middle son has decided to bring three people to my house to stay during Christmas break as well!"

"Mom, there's nowhere else for them to go," he sighed with a roll of his eyes. "Marco lives in California, Sasha's kicked out, Connie's pretty much disowned–do you want me to tell them that they're not allowed now?!"

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous, Jean; if any of your friends needed a home at any point in time, I would offer mine up for them."

"I know you would—"

"Then why are we having this conversation?!"

"Well I wasn't just going to show up with them and say 'oh, by the way, my friends need homes for Christmas, mind keeping them here with us?!' And you called me!"

His mother let out a long exhale, and paused before she spoke. "I'll get the basement ready for them. Are you still going to have Bertolt's party here?"

"Yep."

"Are you bringing pot?"

"Nope."

"Don't lie."

"Mom, it was one time!"

"Two times if you count your seventeenth birthday."

"Fine, two! But we're not bringing any!"

"Are you going to be drinking?"

The musician scoffed at that; his mother knew them too well, it was almost scary—and definitely unfair. "I'm twenty years old."

"And the legal drinking age is twenty-one. If I see any of you drinking a sip of alcohol and you're not the legal age, I'll kick all of you out and keep you outside until you learn how to respect my rules. You can fix the treehouse in the meantime."

"Fix the treehouse?"

"Yes, Lucas hit a baseball into the window when he was over in September. Plus, it's been falling apart for years now."

"Fuck him, that was my treehouse."

"Jean Francis–"

"Mom, I have a class."

"Go, then. Be smart. And make good choices, for Christ's sake! I don't want a call from the police station hearing that you’re publicly intoxicated again."

"I drink responsibly."

"Oh you're such a big boy, breaking the law. Go to class—and tell your friends I said hello."

Jean huffed, stopping outside of the building where his next class would be. He would have to finish up the call before going inside. "Right, will do, Mom."

"I love you."

"Me too."

"Jean Francis Kirschtein."

"Mom—" With a grunt and a flushed face, he murmured into the phone, loud enough for her to hear, "I love you too."

Mrs. Kirschtein hummed in approval; "Better." They said their goodbyes, and Jean let out a long sigh as he hung up, leaning against the brick building behind him. As much as he was relieved and thankful that his mom was letting the trio stay over for Christmas, she pushed his buttons as often as Eren did. It often left him exhausted, yet not as angry as usual.

He typed out a text in a group message before he bounded up the stairs and to his next class.

**_Group message to: Marco Polo, Con Man, Sash_ **

_Mom says hi and that she's getting the basement ready for you guys._

**_Group message from: Sash_ **

_yay! cant wait to see her :)_

**_Group message from: Con Man_ **

_yes or no on the pot?_

**_Group message to: Marco Polo, Con Man, Sash_ **

_No._

**_Group message from: Con Man_ **

_:(_

**_Group message from: Marco Polo_ **

_Where would you even get pot to bring?_

**_Group message from: Con Man_ **

_professor hanji. they give it to you for free if you do something for them._

**_Group message from: Sash_ **

_its illegal but very fun and educating_

**_Group message from: Marco Polo_ **

_I have heard a lot of things about pot, and those things are not it._

**_Group message from: Sash_ **

_stop worrying, start living_

**_Group message from: Con Man_ **

_that was deep man i want that on a shirt_

x-x-x

_December 19th  
_ _5:45 PM_

“Hey! The bus is gonna be here in twenty minutes, and it's a ten-minute walk to the stop! If we wanna make it, we gotta leave _now_!”

“I need to find my hat and then I’m ready!”

“I’m ready to go too.”

“Good; Armin? Connie?”

“Ready!”

“Where are my shoes?!”

“By the door.”

“Oh.”

“Does anyone know where Jean and Marco are?!”

The missing duo in question were currently half-dressed, lips moving meticulously over the other’s, and in Jean and Connie's shared room. It had started as a way to distract Marco from the nervous babble he had gotten himself into, and resulted in a methodical movement of lips and hands that moved down lower than normal. Jean, who constantly checked to make sure that the taller was feeling good, was determined to send away any sense of doubt or fretting that had managed to distract his boyfriend from the positive. He did so with his hands, lithe and firm, that danced against Marco’s stomach and to his hips. They dipped down into his pants and were currently massaging his backside, thoroughly and in circles.

“Can I go here?” The musician whispered, one hand maneuvering to the front and pressing a hand against the bulge that had formed.

Marco inhaled sharply, his eyes widening and his mouth opening in short gasps. He nodded as his eyes lusted over from the pleasure, and his hips dipped forward. “C-Can I do the same to you?” He asked at the same volume. Already, his hands were moving out of his hair and down to his crotch.

“Holy shit—” The shorter male shut his eyes and bucked into the warm grasp. His legs trembled beneath him from the pleasure that shattered up and down his spine. “Y-yeah. Just like that.”

Both sets of hands started to move over the other’s length, hands firm and gradually building in speed. Sharing breaths, the duo started up faster and faster against the member in his hand. Jean used his free hand to press their bodies closer together, allowing the tips to touch and to send shivers through both bodies. Amber met chocolate, and the effect was more than expected: entrancing, thrilling, lustful, electrifying—

“Hey, are you guys ready to go?”

Unfortunately, as Connie opened the door and asked a question that their roommates were wondering, Marco and Jean–who were up against said door–were shoved against the opposite wall. With cries of alarm, their exposed lower halves rubbed up against each other as they did, their surprise distracting them from their arousals. Their friend outside the door, however, was what truly brought them back to reality.

“Holy fuck, you guys are having _sex_!”

“Con, get the fuck out!” Jean snapped as he stumbled to shut the door.

“We’re not doing anything!” Marco called back, both hands already trying to give them privacy once again.

“Dudes, that’s gross!” The shorter groaned. “There are other people in this house! That's my fucking room!"

“Connie–” “Close the fucking door!”

Another voice came from outside the room, but the couple was able to finally close and lock the door. They paused to finally catch their breath, Jean leaning over Marco despite the slight height difference. The Californian looked at his boyfriend, and a wide smile split on his features, followed by a joyful laugh.

“That was interesting,” he grinned, and chuckled as he turned to face him properly.

Jean couldn’t hold back either, and started to laugh as well. His eyes drifted down between them, and he gestured to the white splatter on both of their stomachs. “Well, at least we got off,” he smirked. Marco’s face lit up a bright red, as did the shorter male’s, helping the relaxed atmosphere.

With one final kiss, both Jean and Marco cleaned up as best they could, cleaning themselves with a few unused tissues that were lying around. Their suitcases had already been packed and were downstairs, and they got dressed before they made their way downstairs. Connie was outside by the time they were there, but the word had already gotten out.

“I understand where you guys are coming from,” Reiner said as they walked past. “Sometimes, you just gotta get it out of your system–”

“I’m going to rip your teeth out of your mouth,” Jean sneered in return.

“Maybe if you were thinking with your brain instead of your dick, he wouldn’t have to make fun of you,” Eren glared at him. “There are other people in this world besides you and Marco, and those other people want to go home and not wait for their horny roommates to get control of their sex drives.”

The two-toned-haired male, once he was close enough, reached over and grasped his jacket in his hand. “If you’re gonna bitch, you shouldn’t have waited.”

“Well then you’re lucky, because Armin actually likes you, and he convinced us not to go without you two.”

“Oh, you’re such a saint.”

“And you’re a succubus.”

“Those are female demons, dumbass.”

“I know, I didn’t make a mistake.”

Marco had to hold Jean back, as did Reiner with Eren, to prevent a fight from happening before they were even out of Trost. The Californian, arms wrapped firmly around his boyfriend’s waist, carried him outside and down the stairs to the end of the driveway. Jean, on the other hand, struggled to break free from his grasp.

“I can walk perfectly fine on my own, Marco!” He protested, wiggling from side to side.

The chef set him down gently on his feet; “You need to stop picking fights with every breathing thing.” He adjusted Jean’s hat by tugging gently on the tassels.

Jean huffed. “I wouldn’t have to pick fights if someone learned how to keep his fucking mouth shut.”

“If he needs to do that, then you need to learn how to let things go.”

“Heh. My mom told me that once.”

“See? Great minds think alike; that means that you should listen to us.”

“But I said that if I let go, then that means I would never get to meet the one person that actually taught me how to love myself. And by letting go, I would lose both him and myself.”

Marco, confused, tilted his head at that. “What are you talking about?”

A smile made its way to Jean’s face, and he nudged the taller with his elbow. However, he didn’t say anything in return.

“Jean, who was it?”

“Hey, Historia, is the bus here yet?”

“Historia, don’t answer him until he answers me—are you talking about me?!”

“Are you sure you graduated seventh in your grade?”

“Jean Kirschtein!”


	19. Family and Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda ashamed of this chapter? I mean there's not a lot to it except for introduction stuff. It's just a filler. But there is some serious foreshadowing in here for an event that's coming up in the next few chapters, so that's good. And it's also one of my favorite eras in the book: Christmas! I love it, great times for all.
> 
> Also, there's a little steamy talk and some suggestive action up ahead, just a heads-up for the friends who aren't so big on that sorta stuff.
> 
> You are marvelous.

_Two hours later_  
_Suffolk, VA_

Justine Kirschtein was a shorter, rounder woman who was often used as the model wife and mother. From personal experience, she knew how to work hard (and, in later years, from home) and care for her household with a maternal yet steady hand. She, along with her husband Victor, always put the kids and their needs first. When her sons were young, she taught them how to be good to others, and reminded them to stand up for themselves and for the right side over the wrong. "Morals over popularity," she would remind them, even when they were older and started to leave the nest. She was simple-minded and often curt, presenting herself with fearless confidence, and her stubborn personality and inability to bite her tongue reflected onto her children. Even then, she proved herself as a responsible parent that could handle her own in any battle.

When the bus from Stohess University arrived in Suffolk, Virginia two hours later, at eight-thirty, Mrs. Kirschtein's (dubbed "Mama K" for her hospitality during their high school years) first actions upon seeing her son was to tug on his ear and down to her level despite his protests. "You told me you were leaving in the morning," she glowered at him.

Jean, hissing in pain from the pull on his ear, attempted to straighten up so he wasn't completely  bending over. "Did you seriously think that we would be up at six in the morning to catch a bus?"

"I can't read minds, Jean. I got up early this morning and denied my granddaughter's invitation to her tea party so that I could get ready, and when I checked in with Mr. Leonhardt to offer my assistance, he told me it was _PM_."

"I'm sorry—can you let go?!"

His mother huffed and released him, fists perched on her hips. "And just try and see what happens the next time you give me the wrong info. I brought you into this world, and I can get you out of it, Kirschtein."

"Dude, your mom is a badass," Connie commented from beside Jean, who was rubbing his ear to stop the stinging. When Mrs. Kirschtein noticed the shorter male, she grinned and pulled him in for a hug.

"Connie Springer, it's been so long! I have the bunk beds ready for you and Sasha tonight." She put him at arm's length, and turned serious for a moment. "And I'm sorry your family is a load of— _pardon ma français_ —discriminating assholes. One day, they'll learn that you're a wonderful son."

"Aww, thanks, Mama K!"

"Kiss-ass," Jean snorted.

His mother smacked his arm and shot a glare up at him. "Stop it, we're being nice," she scolded. "You should try it out sometime."

Connie cackled beside him, and through the anger that overcame him, it was the soft familiar laughter belonging to Marco that caused him to smile as well. The musician turned to the Californian, and reached over to tangle their hands together, pulling him closer to his mother. This was a moment that was long overdue, something that Jean had thought of and worried over and was now making a reality.

"Mom," Jean began, and he couldn't help but grin as he said the next words, "this is Marco Bodt: my penpal from third grade, and my boyfriend."

Mrs. Kirschtein smiled instantly once she saw Marco, reaching up and taking either side of his face in her hands; "It’s an absolute pleasure. You made a grumpy child very happy with your letters."

"He made another kid very happy as well," Marco grinned in response. "I'm glad to finally meet you."

The mother brought him in for a hug then, despite the difference in height. The freckled male returned the gesture with a small laugh, and when he looked over at Jean, it was with a bright happiness that couldn't be rivaled.

“Now,” Justine stepped back to look him up and down, “since you’re just as handsome as I imagined you would be, do I need to warn you now or later about excessive sex?”

“ _Mom_!”

x-x-x

"You can place your suitcases anywhere, for now. You can get unpacked later."

The four students placed their suitcases in the living room, next to the couch where the youngest Kirschtein, Michel, was sprawled out, hands busy with a video game controller in hand. He was concentrating on the television that blared loudly with sound effects and music, eyes and fingers moving quickly in near-perfect sync. Sasha and Connie greeted him cheerfully, receiving a grunt in reply. Jean, gathering Marco’s attention, gestured to his brother with a wave of his hand.

“One of the seven deadly sins,” he stated, smirking at the snort of laughter and covered mouth he received. “The wild sloth who sits around and does this all day. Won’t even answer a text if you were on your last dying breath.”

His younger brother shot him a glare at the comment, doing the same to Marco before he returned his focus to his video game. The freckled male hummed with a nod at his reaction. “I thought you were broody,” he joked. “Looks like it’s a Kirschtein thing.”

"Michel Gregory, I thought I told you to get ready for bed by the time I got home," Mrs. Kirschtein turned the TV off first. Michel groaned, head falling backwards, before he got off of the couch and turned off the console. "And stop being so antisocial. Say hello to your brother."

Michel was seven years younger than Jean, with darker shaggy hair, and had been the cause of the older brother's fury in his later years, as Lucas moved out and created his own family. It hadn't gotten any better the older they got, though the younger had certainly turned into a quiet troublemaker himself. When he saw his older sibling, Michel's reaction to his brother was nothing short of familiarity to them: he shoved past him and stepped sharply on his foot.

"Jean, leave your brother alone."

"I didn't do anything to him!" Jean protested. Connie and Sasha both laughed and rushed downstairs before they suffered retaliation that was more than a pointed glower.

Mrs. Kirschtein discarded her coat in the closet, doing the same for the two remaining guests. "Marco, you can sleep either downstairs or upstairs in Jean's room; I have an air mattress filled up for you. It doesn't matter to me."

"I think I'll go with Jean," he replied, smiling at Jean as they started to move upstairs.

"Remember what I said about the sex; I just cleaned those sheets."

"Mom, cut it out!" The musician cried out in embarrassment, tugging the Californian up behind him. His mother’s laughing followed them up and to the room, but stopped once he shut the door. Jean rested his head against the wood, eyes shut. "My family is horrible."

Marco chuckled, and a warm pair of arms wrapped firmly around the two-toned-haired male's waist. "I think they're nice."

"Pff. You haven't met Lucas."

"I'm sure he's fine too. Michel reminds me of you."

The shorter shot a glare over at his boyfriend. "You can sleep on the air mattress."

Laughing, the chef nuzzled against Jean's shoulder and neck. "How do you know I wasn't going to already?"

"Oh shut up, you were definitely going into my bed, nerd."

"Ooh, and tonight I actually thought we were going to get somewhere~"

"Marco—"

"Maybe finish up where we left off earlier?"

A hand gently ran down his side, at first ticklish but then more sensual and slow. Jean hummed and began to relax, muscles loosening up from their previously tense state. His hips moved backwards into his grasp, hands clenched into soft fists. Hot puffs of air pressed against his ear, and a shiver ran down Jean's spine. He could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke.

"Or we can go to bed and just go back to sleep."

"…get your clothes off."

x-x-x

The next morning, Jean woke up to an empty bed, his eyes bleary from sleep and a wave of contentment taking over his body. Although they hadn't gone all the way last night, the last-minute decision the duo had made, with wandering hands and traveling lips and quiet whispered gasps, left the musician smiling. He allowed himself to slowly break out of his sleepy state, and then tugged on the boxers and the hoodie lying closest to him. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the latter article of clothing wasn't his at all, for the soft smell of cinnamon and vanilla and something that could only be described as Marco was far from what was initially expected. He left the hoodie on regardless, too lazy and unwilling to remove it.

It was when he got up and walked down the stairs that he realized there was a loud commotion of noise coming from the kitchen. A worried knot formed inside his stomach when he recognized the sounds of laughter, and he hurried down the steps. He nearly fell into the coat closet as he did, but the sight alone was enough to make him wish he had.

Jean had never gotten along with his brothers, though he never had a reason to dislike them either. They got into arguments over things that didn't matter, such as who was supposed to clean up after dinner. Plus, with him being the middle child and therefore possessing "Middle Child Syndrome", there was bound to be a fight somewhere. Michel had been an entirely different story, but Lucas Kirschtein was as well. There was a four-year age difference between him as Jean, and he had made it his personal job to ruin every chance the younger had of making a good impression on teachers. Having a Kirschtein was a guarantee for trouble, and although it was true in some cases, the fact that it was so easily assumed had been frustrating.

Though Jean wasn't sure what caused him more anger and irritation: the aforementioned situation and their natural rivalry, or to see Lucas showing off the "Forbidden Family Photo Album" to Marco. And to top it off, both seemed to truly be enjoying their time looking through the pictures.

"You can stop now," the musician snapped, taking the book from the duo. Marco had jumped in shock, but Lucas grinned mischievously and walked over to his brother.

"Someone's decided to join the land of the living," he said, pulling him in for a hug despite the disgust and shoving. The only resemblance they had was the shape of their faces; Lucas had light blond hair, short and spiky, and hazel eyes, and only a few inches taller, and possessed a more muscular build. Jean, of course, was lanky and boney, his eyes an amber gold and his hair divided between two tones.

The younger Kirschtein removed his brother, keeping him at arm’s length. "Please leave Marco alone. He's smart and doesn't need your dumb ass rotting his brain."

"I'm just being friendly!"

"He wasn't doing anything wrong," Marco admitted.

"Don't defend him!" Jean frowned.

"I'm just telling you the truth!"

"You need to relax," Lucas sighed, shaking his head as he forced his sibling into the seat across from the chef. “Oh, by the way, Dad’s leaving for another Christmas tour and he won’t be back until the twenty-eighth or something. So Christmas is postponed until he gets back.”

“Oh joy,” Jean grumbled beneath his breath, pouring himself a glass of orange juice and refilling the chef’s. “A few more days to spend with you.” Their father’s presence in their lives had been faint, due to how often and how far his band traveled. He made up for it, from Father’s Day in mid-June to the first week of December, though there were times throughout their younger years when they wanted to be a full family. He remembered one instance, with Lucas eighteen and Jean fourteen, where they snuck out of the house and took a bus to D.C. just to see him perform.

“Hey, better than nothing. You know how crazy the man works.”

“Mhm.”

Lucas whined mockingly at him; "Aww, poor baby. Good thing Mommy made your favorite this morning."

“Did you touch it?”

“Nope.”

“Spit counts.”

“Not this time.”

“What about the juice?”

“Man, don’t you trust your own brother anymore? I didn’t do anything to your food, shithead. Your boyfriend here wanted to do it. He handled it, not me.”

At the mention, Marco grinned and waved at the shorter Kirschtein. “Hiya!”

Jean, one eyebrow raised, looked up at his boyfriend. "Did you?”

“I mean, besides your mom making it, yeah. I made it look all nice for you.” The Californian pointed to the plate across from him, which held said omelet. There was nothing special about the presentation–it was just on the plate, with a fork and knife on either side of the plate–but it was shown with pride and with a bright grin.

The musician, convinced that his brother hadn’t touched anything, sat down and dug into his food. “Did you have some, Mar?"

He gave an enthusiastic nod of his head. "I did! It was really good, just like you said."

The shorter chuckled at the response, letting out a small smile. "I told you so. I'm a little surprised you believed me."

"You can't really forget someone saying they're gonna mail an omelette to you. But yeah, I remember."

And as quick as the smile was there, it was gone once more. "I was eight."

"Age isn't a good enough reason for doing that though."

"Please suck my ass."

"If you really want me to—"

"Marco!"

"So that's what you guys were doing this morning," Lucas mused, placing a plate of bacon in the center of the table. Confused, the musician looked at the chef, but was met with a blushing face and a darting gaze.

"What do you mean?" Jean asked slowly yet carefully.

"You know what, I need to take a shower," Marco nervously laughed, standing up and starting to walk out of the kitchen.

"Well, there's nothing to hide, right?" The eldest smirked. "You can tell Jeanny boy what I saw."

"Ehh, no thanks, you can just–"

"I mean if you really want me to let you guys know that I saw you both ass-naked in bed, then sure, I'll do that."

"We had on pants!"

"Boxer briefs aren't pants, kid. Sorry."

"I'm not a—I—"

"You're a dick, and I hope you slip on your own semen," Jean retorted. He was already taking his food, barely eaten, and walking downstairs, dragging Marco behind him. He made sure to shoot a killing glare at a cackling Lucas as he left. The Californian shut the basement door behind them and the shorter skipped every other step down the stairs before turning to his boyfriend with a fierce scowl. "What happened this morning, and why the fuck did my brother say that shit?"

Groaning, the dark-haired male trudged the rest of the way down the stairs; "One of our phones woke me up this morning and when I went to answer it, I was naked and barely had a pair of briefs on and Lucas walked in to wake you up, and it was so _awkward_ , and I froze up and just sorta stood there, and I _may_ have had some white on my chest, but I actually don’t remember if I did or not, but then I grabbed your hoodie by mistake to cover myself up, and he noticed, and it got even more awkward, and it was absolutely horrible."

Jean, as they sat on the beanbag chairs nearest to them, sighed and shut his eyes. Leaning back, he wondered what force had misfortuned the best person on earth to meeting one of the worst brothers on the planet. "And you were initially naked."

"Yep. And the first thing he says to me is 'damn, your dick has a lot of freckles'."

The shorter choked on his drink, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a few coughs in reaction. Marco panicked and dropped down beside him to pat his back, though he was shooed away. "I'm fine, I'm fine. That was just…unexpected. Fuck, man."

"I know, and I'm sorry I showed my dick to your brother—"

"I'm not angry about that; you couldn't have stopped that. I'm pissed at what he said to you."

The taller let out a sigh of relief; "Yeah. That was pretty dumb of him, huh?"

Jean hummed quietly, placing a kiss on his forehead with a faint smile. “Older brothers are dumb. I like to think they just skipped the deadly sins and went straight to the Devil.”

“Okay, they’re not that bad.”

“Pff, you didn’t have to live with it.”

The taller pecked his lips and smiled, albeit nervously. “And you’re not mad at what happened?”

"I found out a long time ago that it's impossible to get mad at you. And if I do, please do your worse."

Marco chuckled at that. "I couldn't hurt you even if I tried."

“Not even a little bit?”

“Well, there are times when it can be okay to do something like that–”

“How the hell is someone as sweet as you so masochistic?”

The dark-haired male snorted, chuckling. “The world works in mysterious ways, I guess.”

"Don’t you know it. An asshole and a smile. Together."

“Yeah, but a _nice_ asshole."

"Are you saying I'm a nice asshole, or that I _have_ a nice asshole?"

"I like both, so let's go with both."

"You're so weird. Loser."

Marco laughed and scooted closer to him, and the two delved into silence, the taller running a hand through the lighter portion of his hair. Jean resumed eating his breakfast, thankful that his mother had done so before she had gone to do whatever she needed to accomplish for the day.

"You know, your brother also said I have a big di—"

"If you finish that sentence, I will kick your ass so hard that you'll feel it on your deathbed."

A clearing of a throat, and Sasha was successful in gathering their attention. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes were baggy around her, though she still managed a stare of disbelief at the duo that someone had interrupted them. It seemed that both of them had forgotten the bunkbeds that were located downstairs and currently occupied by Sasha and Connie.

"So," she began, "I really don't want to interrupt your conversation, because it's really intense, but are you going to eat that?"

The musician's jaw dropped at that, an eyebrow raising in question. He moved his food closer to his chest, as if it would help the situation. "Look at my breakfast, think about what you said, and try again," he replied curtly.

Pausing as requested, the brunette bowed her head to examine the meal and to ponder on what she had said. When she spoke once again, it was nothing short of what she had said before. "Can I have your breakfast?"

"Get the fu—" Jean paused to cough roughly into the crook of his elbow before he jabbed a finger upstairs. "Get your own!"

Sasha scurried up the stairs with a pout and a grumbled protest; Marco frowned at his boyfriend in worry. "That didn't sound too good."

"I'm fine, it's just an aftershock from before. It's temporary."

"If you say so."

Jean poked his nose; "No moping, Polka Dots. I'm being serious when I say this—I'll be alright."

The Californian hummed at that before resting his head against his lap. Placing his plate of food on the coffee table behind him, the musician slid down to the ground and pulled him in for a tight hug. It was returned without hesitation, though much tighter than normal. "If you get sick, I'm going to get on you for it so badly, Kirschtein."

"Pff. Okay, dork; you can get on something _else_ later, if you want."

"Hey, let's watch a movie. You wanna watch a movie? I wanna watch a movie."

"I thought you were going to take a shower."

"Shhh, you have Netflix, this is a real-life Netflix date, what do you want to watch?"

Jean huffed and took the controller. “There’s this new movie out.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. It’s called ‘My Boyfriend Can Switch Sexual States in Under Five Minutes’.”

“Jean, come on, that’s not fair!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Just as a reminder note, for those who are confused: Lucas 24, Jean 20, Michel 14. I made it so that the oldest has the light hair, the youngest has the dark hair, and the middle is in between. You're welcome.


	20. Past and Drugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Jean's family just lovely? Even though we haven't seen a lot from them? 
> 
> This is another one of my favorite chapters, to be completely honest. I don't know why, because it's one of the worst chapters so far in terms of what happens, but yeah. It's not THE worst, that one still has to come. But yeah.
> 
> Anyway, warnings.
> 
> ***WARNINGS: this chapter has excessive alcohol use at a college party. I do not advise any of these actions to take place. PLEASE, if you are invited to a party and you are unfamiliar with the people hosting it, BYOB or do not drink the alcohol. It could be tampered with and, therefore, dangerous. Have some water instead.  
> As for the actions in this chapter, I do not condone anything to be tried or to happen. Drugs and alcohol are bad on their own, but it's worst when they're combined. So don't do it.  
> If any of the above is uncomfortable or unsettling for you, please skip this chapter.***
> 
> Okay warnings are over. Let's get into this.

"Did you know that this movie made me question my sexuality because I thought that Professor Plum was the coolest guy ever and I wanted to be like him?"

Don't you still question your sexuality?"

"Sorry, what was that? My ears have a filter for haters."

The Netflix date had turned into a four-hour movie dump with the couple, and included Sasha and Connie once they were awake and hungry. Seated in beanbag chairs and sharing popcorn, they watched movies they had seen before and commentated on them as they watched it. Initially, it wasn't too bad, but once the plot progressed, it was the equivalent to a tornado that had driven through the entire tornado belt.

Marco shrugged with a quiet hum, dipping a chip into the small cup of salsa laid out before them, "I liked how he was able to figure out that everyone else had done it, and still made it look like he could be guilty."

"Sucks that he killed the butler, though," Jean pointed out.

"Uhh, how about a thank you for killing Pennywise?" Connie, eyes wide with shock, reminded the others.

"Pennywise is a fictional character, dumbass."

"But that girl from 'The Ring' is real!" Sasha piped up, mouth half full with popcorn. "One time, when we were at my cousin's farm, I heard her down in the well, and my cousin almost pushed me in–"

"She's not real either! You're all worse than Reiner. Horror movies are supposed to scare you into believing that they're real."

"Oh yeah? Then how come 'The Exorcist' is based on a true story?"

"I don’t think that’s the movie you’re thinking about," Marco informed the brunette, who only huffed.

"Well, what about that disclaimer in Japanese horror film that talks about old legends and stuff?"

"They're called 'legends', Sasha, not 'facts'. There is no such thing as—"

Jean's cell phone, face down on the coffee table nearby, suddenly rang to life, cutting off its owner before he could finish. The four stared at the device in shock, eyes wide and mouths shut tight before Connie sprang to his feet and headed for the stairs. "Fuck this shit," he declared. "I'm out."

The musician reached over and grabbed his phone. Sasha, grasping onto Marco's arm, gasped and leaned forward. "Don't do it," she whispered.

With a snort, Jean shot a glare at the female. "It's Jaeger, relax." He answered the phone, and, before he could speak, he was already out-voiced.

" _What the fuck, Shitface, why'd you take so long to answer? Did the Ring crawl out and eat you or something?_ " Eren snapped.

Jean didn't waste any time in hanging up and then stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah, I'm not dealing with this shit."

"What—"

"The next person who mentions the girl from the well is gonna find their head in the toilet and a one way trip to the cess pool."

Sasha crinkled her nose at that; Marco gave a lopsided frown but didn't say anything further. Jean's phone rang again, the same caller as before.

"Maybe you should pick it up," the brunette offered.

"You can answer it," he promoted with a sneer. Though he wasn't entirely serious, he didn't want to have an overflow of missed calls.

Of course, this being Sasha, she reached over and answered the phone, putting it on speaker with a chirpy "Hi Eren!"

" _Why the fuck did you hang up, asshole?!_ "

"Wow, that's rude. All I said was 'hi'."

There was a brief moment of silence before the voice, this time unsure, returned to the phone. " _Uhh, hey, Sasha. Why did you answer Jean’s phone?_ "

"Because he told me to!" The musician, leaning against the banister, gathered her attention and pointed upstairs. "He had to take a shit."

“That’s not what I was trying to tell you, asshat," he scowled in a low voice. The brunette stuck her tongue out in return.

" _Ew. I didn't want to know that._ "

"Yeah, neither did I,” she crinkled her nose in disgust. “It's gross, just like him."

Marco stifled a laugh, biting on his lip as the two-toned-haired male strode over to him and started to tickle him. The Californian squealed and fell backwards, trying to fend himself from the shorter, though to no avail. He tried to speak, but was cut off with more laughter.

" _What the hell are you guys doing?_ "

"Oh, that’s just Marco!" Sasha grinned, as if it was a normal occurrence to have two college males ferociously tickling one another. "There's a really funny movie on right now."

" _Right. Okay. Well, there's gonna be a party tonight–_ "

The rest of the conversation was lost to the duo's ears as they rolled off of the beanbag and onto the ground. Marco situated himself on top of Jean, and held his arms above his head, his legs firmly pressing against either side of his thighs. Something that wasn't easily seen or figured out from the Californian was the amount of upper body strength that he possessed. If he could pin someone down, it would take a strenuous amount of effort to get him off. The Virginian stuck his tongue out at the male above him. "You're a jerk," he stated firmly, "and you smell like a loser."

"Well, you look like a nerd," the chef smiled despite being out of breath, "but you're a bigger loser than I am."

"How can I be a loser if I won you over?"

"That is so disgustingly corny, it makes me wanna kiss you."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I don't know how to express 'I really wanna have sex with you' into a kiss."

"Excuses, excuses." Jean leaned up and connected their lips briefly. "You don't have to have a reason to kiss me."

"I know." Marco pecked him in return, but held it for longer before he pulled away. "I always have a reason to kiss you though."

"What's that?"

"So you can get better."

"Fuck you."

"I thought I was allowed to do that~"

"Are you done having sex?" Sasha intervened, standing beside the couple on the ground. The phone was back on the table, turned off.

"We're not having sex," Jean informed her as Marco moved off of him and helped him up.

"Are you sure you're not? Because I can go upstairs if you want to."

"Sasha, what did Eren say?"

"He says there's gonna be a bonfire tonight at Stewards Peak, and a lot of people from high school are gonna be there. But he says that we're driving everyone there, since we have the bus."

"What time does it start?"

"Well, Eren says it starts at seven, but we can come whenever."

"Wonderful. So there's a high school reunion bonfire tonight and I'm the choice of whether we go or not."

"Eren says you don't have a choice."

"Well fuck him too." He stole a glance at the freckled male beside him. "Though I should probably stay with Marco, since he won't be going."

"Oh, Eren already got the okay on Marco and Ymir. So they're both invited too!"

"…a pleasure."

x-x-x

 **_Group message to: Shitface, Annie, Tori_ **  
_Coming by your houses after eight. Be ready or you don't go._

 **_Group message from: Annie_ **  
_I could care less about this party. Come whenever._

 **_Group message from: Tori_ **  
_Oh_

 **_Group message from: Tori_ **  
_Pick us up whenever. We'll be ready_

 **_Group message to: Shitface, Annie, Tori_ **  
_Probably going to Annie's first since it's closest, then yours._

 **_Group message from: Tori_ **  
_That's fine! See you then :)_

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_fuck you asshole im ready when im ready_

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_not you, tori_

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_i meant horseface_

 **_Group message to: Shitface, Annie, Tori_ **  
_Please go fuck yourself on a pointy spike because I will not wait for your ass_

 **_Group message from: Shitface_ **  
_hold on let me find the fuck that i give OH YEAH I DONT_

 **_Group message to: Shitface, Annie, Tori_ **  
_I found it right here let me shove it up your ass as a favor_

 **_Group message from: Annie_ **  
_If either of you say one more thing in this group message, I'm going to rearrange your back teeth to the front of your mouth._

 **_Group message from: Tori_ **  
_Why can’t we be friends?_

x-x-x

Their arrival at the party was just as Jean had thought it would be: some backslaps, some fake hugs, some questions on how everyone is doing and what’s going on. Eren and Reiner knew the most people, and chatted away with those they knew well. Almost as soon as they were out of the car, Annie was taken to the bar area, as the voluntary bartender, to get her station set up. Everyone else had dispersed into separate groups and mingled around; there were chips and dips on high tables that were scattered around the party area. A rundown barn, as well as the location of the bathrooms, sheltered a DJ and her equipment from the flurries that had started to fall. So far, there were high hopes for a good outcome.

"The food's not that bad for something homemade," Jean shrugged, sharing a plate of chips and dip with Connie.

The shorter nodded and hummed in agreement; "Definitely; whoever chose it deserves an award."

"Ehhh. Not that good, Con."

Connie rolled his eyes and looked to Marco for an answer. "Hey Marco, what do you–Jesus, Marco, what the fuck?"

The Californian, who had previously been downing his first drink of the night, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked from one to the other. "What'd I do?" He asked cluelessly.

"Didn't you just get that?" Jean inquired, pointing to the nearly empty cup in his hand.

Marco looked from his cup of alcohol to the other two. "Yeah? What's the big deal?"

"You drank it like you were dehydrated or some shit,” Connie pointed out. “Your body's, like, fifty percent water or something; you'll be okay."

"I thought it was eighty-five."

"I take pictures, not science."

"The drinks here are so good!" His eyes wandered to the solo cup in wonder, as if he was about to worship it. "I can't get enough of it."

"Lemme try some." The shorter held his hand out until the cup was placed firmly in his grasp. He downed what was left, and smacked his lips before his eyes widened in shock. "Holy hell, that's something."

"Right?!"

Jean grabbed the cup and took a look inside it. There was definitely alcohol in that drink–that smell was unavoidable and easy to label–but there had to be something else accompanying it. He couldn't tell what it was, however, and looking at the cup and the murky liquid inside didn't help him either. "There's something else in this," he mused quietly. Marco giggled beside him, grasping his shoulder and stumbling. "What's wrong with you?"

"Your hair is two colors!" He exclaimed, and ran a hand through the lighter locks on top. Connie leaned forward and started to do the same before both hands were swatted away.

"Connie! Hey!"

The trio was stopped by the sudden shout that belonged to a voice they wished they would never have to hear again. The bald male had tensed at the voice, though still managed to gaze up at the speaker. “Hey, Alex,” he grimaced with a flat tone of voice.

A brown-haired male no taller than Jean patted Connie on the back in a friendly manner, and grinned down at the shorter. “It’s been too long, man!” Alex beamed. “I never thought I’d see you again!”

“Yeah, me neither. I kinda hoped I wouldn’t.”

The newcomer chuckled at the response. His voice was still low, and his hair, although much shorter than it had been in high school, was neat and cut short. He was still the same Alex Vancoven that Sasha had fallen in love with, and the same Alex Vancoven that had broken her heart and her spirit. “Still sour over what happened, huh?”

Connie’s face whitened at the words, his hands clenching into fists. “Dude, you were an asshole to my best friend and she was crazy about you. I have every right to be ‘sour’.”

“Yeah, I know, and I feel bad about that. I shouldn’t have treated her so badly. I’m a changed man, Con.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I go to the Naval Academy now, and it’s honestly the best decision of my life. I’ve changed a lot from high school, you know. I’m not the person I was when I was sixteen. You of all people should know what that’s like, right?”

The photographer snorted and rolled his eyes. Even though there were changes between the troupe of twelve’s personal characters, Connie was one of the few who barely changed in the transition from high school to college.

“Do you think she’ll take me back?”

Broken out of the state of silence, the trio followed Alex’s gaze to said female, who was currently stuffing her face with tortilla chips and spinach dip. Beside her, leaning against the wall and attempting a conversation, was Historia and a Ymir who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Jean could already imagine the protective stance Connie was in right now; the shorter male’s entire presence wasn’t anything even relatively close to intimidating. It was lanky and awkward, and his shaven head wasn't the most common hairstyle. He was neither athletic nor unfit, yet when he wanted to be active, he could beat anyone in a race. Everyone had come to an agreement that his ears looked like a monkey’s, and his head was weirdly rounded. Though if anyone else had poked fun at him, they would regret it as soon as the words left their mouths.

Connie had gasped quietly once he noticed who Alex was looking at. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Alex said with a raise of his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah…she is.” He nodded, as if to make his point more believable. “Since we started college.”

At first, there was no response back, and Jean wondered if he had even heard what had been said. Beside him, Marco grasped onto and squeezed his hand, his eyes wide with excitement and anticipation as he looked from one to the other. Eventually, Alex hummed and smiled. “Huh. Congrats, dude. You two are good for each other.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see ya around, alright?”

“Uhh. Sure. Yeah.”

Connie was already turning back to the duo beside him when Alex started to walk away. “I need a drink, that was the most stressful shit I’ve ever done, holy shit.”

Marco stifled a laugh and looked from one to the other. “He didn’t even notice me,” he stated.

“He thinks homosexuality is an unnecessary evil that teamed up with global warming and pollution to destroy the earth,” Jean informed his boyfriend, gesturing to their still entwined hands.

The freckled male snorted, and burst into loud reels of laughter; “That’s so funny! Homosexuality isn’t a disease!”

From beside them, the bald male downed a drink he had somehow been given, and sighed in contentment. “That tasted really fucking good.”

“Oooh, we should get more!”

“That’s genius; Jay, can you go get us some more?”

“Yeah, Jean, pleeeease?”

“If you stay here and don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” the musician huffed, shoving the duo away. "Keep yourselves alive."

“Thank youuu!” “Holy shit, they have hummus!”

Making his way through the throngs of people, mixed in with a rough coughing fit once he arrived at the bar, Jean waited until the crowd in front of the counter was gone with their drinks before he stepped up to it. Annie opened her mouth, probably to ask for his order, but then closed it and shot him an irritated glare. “Someone messed with the drinks,” she stated flatly. “These idiots are drinking it like it’s water and are coming back for more within five minutes.”

“I was going to ask you about that,” the musician scowled, leaning his elbows against the counter. “Marco and Connie want more.”

“I’m not giving it to them. Only four of us are sober, and I’m not going to let eight wasted people come home with us.”

“Figures you would say something like that. Do you know what’s causing it?”

“The only thing I know is that it’s in the drink. Historia and I drank some water to test the cups, but it hasn’t had any effect on us. Someone spiked the alcohol, as ridiculous as it is to say. There are only three bottles that apparently haven’t been tampered with, and I’m hoping they don’t turn.” She paused in pouring the drink, and glanced up at Jean. “I think there are drugs involved."

The taller hummed, drumming his fingers against the countertop. Although it was a party and a large majority of the people there were drinking underage, cutting off the alcohol supply would cause a problem no one wanted to deal with. However, at the same time, if the drinks were laced with drugs, there was a higher chance of someone getting critically hurt. “What do you need me to do?”

Annie pushed a strand of hair out of her face, and started to serve a few more partygoers that had appeared. “Take care of Marco and Connie. If you see them drinking alcohol, don’t let them finish it. Get Sasha with you if you can; Historia has to take of her, Ymir, _and_ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.”

Jean nodded, and a smirk rose to his lips as a thought crossed his mind. As much as he got along with Annie, there was something about her words that he couldn’t help but tease her about. “You’re really starting to care about other people, huh?”

Cold blue eyes shot a fierce glare at him. “Go get your boyfriend.”

“Is it because your girlfriend is probably just as high as she is wasted, and you were hoping to get to be with her tonight?”

“I’m giving you ten seconds to leave before I rearrange your face onto your ass.”

The musician, cackling, turned around to walk back to the duo he had left, but was met face to face with freckled cheeks and bright, animated eyes that looked more misty from the drugs than Jean liked to think they were. Connie was just as close and just as gone, though was cackling and practically rolling against Marco. Their sudden appearance, as well as the limited amount of space between them, caused a small cry of shock and a jump out of him.

“You were taking a long time,” the Californian pouted, his eyebrows furrowed close together.

“I was chatting with Annie,” Jean admitted with a jab of his thumb over his shoulder. “Look, we’re not going to drink the alcohol anymore, okay? We think there are drmm—”

Marco silenced him with a sudden kiss against his lips, his hands pulling him closer by the waist. The Virginian froze up, surprised from the kiss, but eventually pushed him away. He wasn't going to go anywhere intimate with him just because he was in a completely different world.

“Why'd you do that?” The taller whined, nuzzling against him and closing the short distance between their bodies with a curt pull. “I just wanna kiss you.”

“Marco,” Jean separated them at arm's length, "you're drunk, and high, and I'm not going to do this with you right now."

"You are so responsible. And that's really attractive." He sniffled, and burst into more giggles. "How do you do it?!"

There wasn't much else to remember. Jean did the best he could to keep Connie and Marco under his watch, but they were having too much fun amongst themselves that he couldn't help but let them be. Eventually, and somehow, he couldn't recall, he would fall victim to the spiked alcohol, as more bottles at the bar were laced and mixed with drugs. Even the few Annie found that were clean had been turned bad. As unsafe as it was, he couldn't bring himself to care. Life was too short when worrying about trivial things such as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In the beginning of the chapter, before all the crazy drugs and whatnot, these were the movies Connie, Sasha, Marco and Jean were talking about:  
> -It  
> -The Ring  
> -The Grudge  
> -Clue  
> -The Exorcist  
> Four-fifths of that list is horror movies, so watch at your own risk. I highly recommend Clue, though.  
> **The Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb Annie referred to are not the fairy tale characters from "Alice in Wonderland". It's Reiner and Bertolt. Though when it comes from Annie, Bert's probably the Dee and Reiner is the Dumb.


	21. Scoldings and Sneezes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time. "It's Too Damn Early to be Up" AM. But there's marriage equality in the US, and that's reason enough for me to celebrate and be happy.
> 
> Oh and this story updates too. Yeah.
> 
> Chapter 20 already? We're about to get into some crazy shit, guys. Buckle down.
> 
> ***WARNING for vomiting/coughing up phlegm/bile.***

Jean had had a multitude of hangovers throughout his years of college, but nothing had prepared him for the moment he would wake up. Almost instantly, he was emptying the contents of his stomach into a trash bin near his bed. A wave of nausea kept him on his stomach, eyes half-open and only partially aware of his surroundings. The noises from downstairs sent painful strands of irritation to his pounding head, a problem that he found himself unable to avoid, even when he pressed a pillow against his ears. To make the situation worse was the soreness that overcame his throat, and the running of his nose that made breathing through it much more difficult than normal. And to make it all the more appealing, the memories of last night came flowing back to him like a tidal wave, reminding him of the situation he had once been aware of and how he had let himself be a victim to the spiked drinks.

He fell back against his pillow, eyes partially closed and his voice hoarse as he uttered a faint "Fuck" under his breath. He wondered when he had let himself become so oblivious to his limit of drinking. Drinking alcohol wasn't new territory; he enjoyed it since he started college. But he had always kept himself from going overboard: enough to be tipsy but still aware of what he was doing. The fact that he could barely remember anything that he had done was shocking.

Though that didn't explain how and why he felt so sickly. Minus the hangover, he was in a pain that had him cringing with each little movement. His limbs were heavy with fatigue, and he was barely able to secure the covers over his chilled frame. Jean couldn't recall the last time he had gotten that sick. The worst he would get was a stuffy nose or a sore throat during the changing of the seasons that went away within two days, three at the most. He wanted to know what was wrong with him, and how fast he could get it out of his system.

At that time, the door opened and Marco stepped through with two steaming mugs in his hands. He looked just as horrible as Jean did, though without the sickliness. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was sluggish with each movement. He set the mugs down to caress his forehead, as if it was made of glass and would break at any second. The Californian didn't get very far before he noticed Jean looking up at him, and grimaced instantly. "How much do you remember from last night?" He asked in a low voice.

"Not enough to know what happened," the musician grumbled, his voice scratchy and rough and deeper than normal. “But enough to know I fucked up.” He coughed into the crook of his elbow, sitting up to relieve the pressure on his abdomen before he dropped back down against the covers.

Marco frowned. "You look sick."

"I feel sick."

"You sound sick too."

"And you have a face full of freckles." Jean snorted when he received a confused tilt of the head. "I thought we were stating the obvious."

With a scoff, the chef sat down and crossed his arms on the edge of the bed. "Grumpy and sassy this morning."

"Jean Kirschtein, everybody. I'll be here all week."

"Unless your mom decides to kick us out."

Jean raised an eyebrow at that, and lifted his head up momentarily. "What do you mean?"

"Apparently, by what she told us, Annie, Armin, and Historia had to bring us all here from that party last night? Because they were the only ones who managed to stay sober, and everyone else was 'gone'. Annie says someone laced the alcohol with drugs, which isn't safe and could have killed us all if there had been anymore."

Jean's memory worked to reach the suppressed night, struggling to gain a recollection on what he had done. Up until Marco and Connie had done the tango, and quite well, his memory was fuzzy and full of empty spaces. "That happened to us?"

"Yeah. Your mom was pissed. She gave everyone a lecture on BYOB and how irresponsible we were and stuff. She's terrifying when she's mad. I thought she was gonna hit Reiner and Eren with the frying pan."

"Did she hit Eren?"

"Now I'm adding 'rude' to my list."

"What list?"

"It's called ''Moods my boyfriend is in when he wakes up'. So far, we have three down."

"You're a butt. You should change your name to Marco Butt so that everyone knows the truth."

"Okay, _Gene_ Kirschtein."

Jean scowled at that, but erupted into loud coughing almost immediately. Marco held the trash can close by, a look of worry crossing his face. The shorter pushed it away and shook his head. "I'm fine, I promise."

"Liar. And stop talking; you're gonna run your voice down even more."

"I'm coughing out lungs and you're more worried about my voice."

"You better be joking, because I came here to bring you tea and if you're not gonna drink it, I will."

Once the Californian stopped talking, Mrs. Kirschtein entered the room. Her eyes were lit with a fury that had been unattended for too long. Jean, at first, had looked at her past the streaming mug, but he fixed his gaze towards the murky liquid as quick as he could. His mother was past any sort of description or word that would define the anger she had.

"Marco, would you mind giving us some privacy for a short while?" She asked, arms crossed in front of her.

"Yes, ma'am, of course," the taller nodded firmly and walked quickly out of the room. He gave a small yet reassuring smile at Jean, and then shut the door. It was able to calm his jittery nerves just enough so he could sit up and lean against the opposite wall.

“You look like shit.”

Jean scowled at her, the nerves returning with full force as his mother sat on the end of his bed. “Thanks for telling me,” he mumbled.

Justine scoffed; “If you were responsible, maybe you wouldn’t be looking so terrible.”

“I was being responsible—”

“Clearly, you weren’t, if Annie had to carry you back inside! Didn’t I tell you not to take a drink offered to you at a college party?!”

“This was a totally different scenario!”

Justine shut her eyes to let out a long sigh, rubbed her temple, and then looked up at her son. Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and disappointment, both something that he couldn't handle from her. "I never had a problem with you drinking, even if you aren't twenty-one. But coming home not only intoxicated, but high as well…" She shook her head and sighed. "And you even knew. The others who drank it didn't even know that it contained drugs until this morning."

"It's not like I did it on purpose." He cleared his throat the best he could to rid his voice of the unnatural gravelly sound. "I didn't even realize I was drinking until it was too much. And then, I didn't care—"

"Because you were having fun?"

"…yeah. I was."

"I heard you and Eren played that Dance Dance Revolution game together, beat the high score, and passed out on top of each other."

"Did we?”

“By Historia’s words, yes.”

“I can't remember."

"Of course not." Justine paused, shook her head and sighed. "You're really some trouble, Jean. I want you to be safe and happy."

"I am safe and happy. I just make poor decisions sometimes. You win some, you lose some."

"Yes, but that isn't something you can use for this scenario. That's not going to help you."

"Mom, really, I'm not doing bad shit."

"Language."

"Just because I have one slip-up doesn't mean everything else is horrible." He paused, and instantly thought of the best argument that he could use that might assure her. "I have Marco now."

"Ah, yes. The boyfriend that can make everything better."

"Mom—"

"I'm not trying to be rude. You and Marco are nice together. He really does seem to care about you." Mrs. Kirschtein pushed back his bangs and smiled warmly. "Usually, I’d continue scolding you, but since you brought it up… I'm happy his letters were something you stuck to."

As sickly as he felt, Jean couldn't hold back the smile that appeared at her kind words. "Thanks, Mom. It means a lot to know you approve of him."

"It's not hard to; he's very likable, very kind. Very handsome—but you already knew all of that, didn't you?"

"More or less."

With a shake of her head, Justine pulled her son in for a hug. At first, Jean hesitated, but then returned it and placed his chin on her shoulder. "If you were in high school, this would be a very different story right now."

"Probably."

"But no matter what, you remember that I love you, even when you're a pain in the ass."

Jean hummed, and then tightened his hug; he knew and remembered that he had never been the easiest kid to raise. Throughout high school, he had thought of himself as a greater being above everyone else. He was a jerk to everyone he came in contact with, and rarely ever showed who he truly was. It was why he had failed dates with Mikasa and Sasha, and why his closest friend, in person, had only ever been Connie. For his mother, it was a struggle of raising a hot-headed musician who played music much too loudly and was too inappropriate for the youngest addition of the Kirschtein family. She knew who he was past the complicated layers that had grown over time, yet he kept it closed off from her the most out of anyone. And even then, their relationship had gotten better when he went to Stohess; they talked on a regular basis, and Jean had opened up to her more. She listened and commented, and although there were little things they would disagree on, there was something there that they had that none of his friends owned. From the very beginning of his coming out, she had supported him, and out of all of Jean’s friends, there were only two others who were able to claim that recognition.

The duo broke apart, Justine planting a kiss on his forehead and Jean wiping it away, before she stood to leave. "There's some food downstairs; I would get some now before it's gone."

"What's down there?" The musician got out of bed, his muscles practically screeching from the stiffness in his legs.

"Whatever you want: soup, chili, salsa, crackers, waffles. Or whatever Sasha and Connie haven't devoured yet. I love your friends, Jean, but you couldn't find some who don't vacuum anything put in front of them?"

Jean followed his mom downstairs, where the ruckus from before had returned during their private conversation. Sasha and Connie were nowhere to be seen, but judging from the mess on the table, they had just been there. Marco was in an animated conversation with Eren, Reiner and Ymir about something he couldn't catch, but a cool wash cloth thrown into his hand distracted him from eavesdropping.

"Reiner, would you mind getting the thermometer off the top of the fridge for Jean please?" Justine requested as she retrieved a clean bowl from a low shelf. When Jean gave her a questioning state, she explained, "You're not just hungover. I know a head cold when I see one."

"Mom, I'm fine," he stated with a roll of his eyes and a voice just as rough as before.

"Wow, lay off the cigarettes, Horseface," Eren commented with a smirk.

"Wow, lay off the alcohol, jackass, you look like you were beat up by one of Santa's elves."

"Fuck you, you're just as hungover as I am—ow!"

Justine pointed the same wooden spoon she had whacked Eren's head with at her son. "One more swear for Michel to pick up, and I'm blaming all of you for giving me another rebellious troublemaker."

The two quarreling quieted down at that, the brunet focusing on his bowl of assorted fruits and Jean on putting the thermometer given to him in his mouth. Almost instantly, he pulled it out, lips smacking together in distaste. There was an unpleasant taste on it that wasn't normal, something that was hot and had burned his mouth to the point of discomfort. "Mom, I think it's broken," he remarked flatly.

"What do you mean 'broken'?"

"It has a weird taste to it." As he looked closer at the thermometer, he could see a strange colored tint outlining the outside and even coating his fingers. "Is it supposed to be red?"

"Looks like blood," Ymir added.

"Maybe it's something from your mouth?" Marco suggested with a confused gaze.

"C'mon, Marco, it's not like he put it in so much, he broke his gag reflex," Eren said. "I mean, you two already—"

"Eren!"

Reiner took the instrument and inspected it closely; he dabbed at a spot that was covering the digital numbers and handed it back. "Could be salsa," he mused as Jean cautiously returned the thermometer under his tongue. The unpleasant taste returned, this time searing, as if it had been set into fire. "Are those kind of thermometers supposed to go into food?"

Justine briefly glanced over and shook her head. "Of course not; you picked the right one. It's probably nothing serious."

At that moment, the youngest Kirschtein, Michel, appeared from the basement. He took one look at the kitchen and made eye contact with his older brother. When he beheld the sight before him, he smiled mischievously and walked off without saying a word. Nothing needed to be said in order for an understanding to be made.

Reiner was barely able to confirm the red substance as hot sauce before Jean was spitting the thermometer out and puking in the sink.

x-x-x

“If you need anything, just text me what it is and I’ll be up with it as soon as possible. You need to rest, not run a marathon.”

“I’m not going to run a marathon, Marco. It's just a flight of stairs.”

“I don’t care if it’s stairs or an elevator–if you move out of your bed, I’ll make sure you don’t move from it until you graduate.”

“Wow, you’re so intimidating, I’m so scared. Please spare me, o freckled menace.”

After discovering his fever of 101.1 and getting a steaming bowl of soup, Jean returned to bed to sleep and hoped that the fever and cold would drop down. Marco followed close behind him with a fresh box of tissues and a blanket from downstairs, insisting that he should go along with him to make sure that everything was alright.

The chef glowered at him at his statement, enough to get him back under the covers and comfortable before the threat became a reality. The musician huffed; “You know, you’re acting more like a paranoid mom than a hippie boyfriend.”

“I’m not acting like a paranoid mom—”

“Speaking of which, are you gonna call your family on Christmas? I mean it’s probably going to end up being the two of us, because my dad is out of town, but—Marco?”

The taller, now seated at the end of the bed, had a blank expression on his face as the question was asked. His shoulders were tense, and his hands were pressed flat against the top of his thighs. If Jean didn’t know any better, he would say that he looked frightened, even anxious.

“Marco.” Jean shook his shoulder to gather his attention once again. “Did you hear me?”

Slowly nodding, Marco blinked and sat up straighter. “I’m fine.” His voice was barely audible, as if he had just seen a ghost. “I… I don’t have a relationship with my family anymore. When I went back home in the summer, it was the last time. I didn’t even spend Independence Day with them.”

Th musician sat up in bed immediately, heart clenched in pain at the expression, and pulled the taller in for a tight hug. Marco didn’t say anything, but he rested his head against his shoulder and took in a long sigh. Sickness or not, the look of pain and heartbreak and utter sadness that had crossed over normally pleasant features was unallowed. And he was going to do whatever he could to push it far away from his boyfriend.

“I grew up with the mindset that my family is the most important thing in my life, no matter what they may be like. If they’re racist, they’re racist; if they’re sexist, they’re sexist; if they’re homophobic, they’re homophobic. We can’t do anything about it, because that’s who they are. It taught me that the actions of others, no matter how bad, can be pardoned and overlooked, and you can turn a blind eye on them, and it’ll be alright.” The Californian paused briefly, exhaled deeply once more, and clenched tightly onto Jean’s hand. “But they also taught me that there’s only so much a person can take before everything they’ve bottled up will explode on them. When I left my family, I made sure that there was no way I would ever be able to go back to them, even if I wanted to. I let them know everything I had hidden from them; my cousins called it the Scandal of the Year. Sometimes, I regret it, because Nonna was the only one who made anything pleasant. But then I remember my mom calling it a ‘temper tantrum’, like I was acting like a five-year-old, and then I don’t regret it at all.”

“Sounds like hell,” Jean commented quietly.

“It is. And it sucks, because I actually like San Diego. If I even go to the state of California–hell, if I go to the western part of America–I’ll wind up going back, and then they’ll win.”

“They’re not going to, because I’m here with you.”

“I can already imagine my mom thinking that this is ‘just a phase’. You don’t go through a phase when you are who you are and your family can’t get past the fact that people are different and that’s okay! Do they want everyone to be the same?!”

“Marco—”

“If we all looked like our neighbors and we talked alike and we liked the same things, no one would be happy! It would be a boring world with boring people and boring lives, and everyone would be miserable! That’s why we look the same on the inside: to give humanity a chance to not judge the outside like so many people already do!”

“Marco, hey.” Jean pressed a short kiss against his cheek and nuzzled against it. Marco scowled with frustration, both out of breath and fueled with past aggression, and the affection only seemed to do a minimal amount of change. “The way I see it, your family sucked, so you dumped them, and when you came back to Stohess for your junior year, you found a new family made up of dysfunctional, fucked-up misfits who have pun wars and listen to music too loudly, and are okay with being themselves and not what people want them to be. And trust me when I say this–your old family sucks compared to your new one. Plus, we have good taste in people.”

The freckled male, during the small speech, had grown from irritated and tense to relaxed and tranquil. He still hadn’t managed to smile, though it was definitely a better state than it had been before. Before much else could be done, however, Jean had to pull away in a combination of a sneeze and cough that made his head ache and his nose drip. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose as a warm pair of arms pressed against his sides and a soft hum resonated against his back.

“I don’t care if you get me sick,” Marco whispered to him, and softly pecked the back of his neck. “You can’t say something like that and not get a reward.”

Jean smiled and leaned back against him, only to be met with hazelnut eyes that were genuinely happy and devoid of negativity. “If I’m good enough, will you give me more than a kiss and a hug?”

The Californian bit back a laugh to wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Gross, sickly boyfriend. Are you always horny when you’re sick?”

“For attractive boyfriends, I am.”

“Is this the real Jean Kirschtein, or are you a fraud?”

“Kiss me and you’ll find out.”

“That made no sense, you loser; go to bed!” Marco broke away from him and stood up, rearranging the ruffled covers. His regular attitude, with smiles and laughter, seemed to be rejuvenated, if just a little bit. “If you don’t get better, we can’t kiss, and then we’ll both be sad, and if we can’t kiss each other to be happy again, then we’ll be even sadder than before—”

“You’re starting to babble.”

“I’m just saying you’ll regret it~” The taller gave one last kiss to the top of his head and a warm smile. “Sleep well, Jean.”

As he left, Jean settled under the warm covers of his bed. There wasn’t much sound in the house at the current moment, and it was with a satisfied sigh that he found himself falling asleep to a constellation of freckles and a smile that twisted his stomach into warm knots.


	22. Bonding and Boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's America Day and I'm posting a Christmas chapter. Seems reasonable enough.
> 
> i realized the other day that I haven't been doing my small motivational parts at the end of these notes (if anyone even reads these), so I'm gonna start doing that again.
> 
> You are superb.

Jean had lost count how many times he had woken up, whether it was to once again empty his stomach of any bile that had built up or if it was to soothe the grumbling of his stomach with soup and tea. Both had already been consumed; his drink with barely enough to satisfy him, yet he had forgotten to bring crackers with him. Doing as Marco had told him, and avoiding what would most likely be a weak "punishment", the Virginian texted his boyfriend and requested more food. That had been, according to his texts, thirty minutes ago, and the freckled male still hadn't arrived with said food. In fact, anyone he was willing to rely on—Connie, Sasha, even Armin and Reiner—hadn't responded to him. The text had gone through, and he could still hear people in his house. It was at this point that he threw off the covers, wrapping the top sheet around his shoulders, and started to head downstairs.

His pace slowed to a tiptoe once he could depict familiar voices and he could make out a bit of the conversation that was being shared. Reluctant to steal a glimpse at what was being said, it wasn't hard for the sickly musician to imagine what was happening, and for what reasons—and to figure out why his texts had never been answered.

He had participated in something very similar two years ago, hosted by a pre-law Reiner whose boyfriend joked about a hearing for Ymir as a way to make sure she was "the one" for Historia. Three witnesses—Sasha, Connie, and Reiner at the time—held themselves accountable for assuring who Historia was and how she deserved to be treated. Now, two years later, there was one for Marco, sitting in front of them all, to make sure that he was the right choice for Jean. With a table separate from the others, Sasha and Connie had been chosen as "witnesses" once more, though Eren had been the new addition. Whoever had come up with that idea was going to regret it as soon as the trial was over.

"—I mean come on, it's not like there's anyone else besides us who can actually handle Jean," Connie stated. The two-toned haired male could already imagine how he looked right at that moment: shrugging, leaning back with his arms crossed, a light yet knowing smirk on his face. "He'd probably scare them away before they have a chance to speak."

"He's not that bad," the Californian chided. "Sure, he's grumpy and rude, and he can be an ass sometimes—"

Eren cut in at that; "Sometimes? Psh–you can't be _that_ lenient with him."

Jean scowled at that; he was definitely going to make someone regret picking Eren as one of his representatives.

"I'm not trying to be lenient," Marco said. The frown in his voice was blatantly obvious. "Jean is a lot of bad things, yeah. But he's also a lot of good things. He's more realistic, and he can be a good person—" Sasha laughed, which covered Eren's next response. "I mean it! When you feel really bad about yourself, or even when you're in this slump and you can't get out of it, Jean knows what to say. It's like a sixth sense for him. He just says the right thing, and it's like there was never a problem in the first place. I can't do that at all; I'm not that good with words in the first place. But Jean has been able to say things that don't make me feel bad about myself. I don't have a good relationship with my family right now, and when we talked about it, and he started to speak…it was so simple, yet so…effective. I can't think of a better way for him to express that he cares than what he did."

"Huh; never thought I'd see Jean as the helping type," Ymir commented. "He usually thinks about himself."

"But he didn't go to homecoming on Friday or Saturday this year because he took blame for what we did at the Pikes' party in October," Armin reminded them. "He did that so we would avoid getting some sort of punishment."

"Good point, blondie."

"Thank y—"

"Don't help out."

"Armin has a point, though," Marco mused. "Jean did that for you guys even though it was punishing himself. We're all selfish, in a way. Some of us repeat it more than others, but we all do it, one way or another."

"Trust me when I say this: I know what you mean. I used to think that 'me, myself, and I' was the most important thing around. And then this little blonde queen fixed that up for me."

"See? That's the point! People change!"

"So are you saying that Jean has changed because of you?" Reiner asked.

"…no. I'm not saying that."

Ymir scoffed; "Jeez, Freckles, then what _are_ you saying?"

"I'm saying…that I value Jean more than you guys do. He didn't change because of me. He changed because he cares about us. Think about it: how many of you have had a problem, and if Jean gave you advice on it, it helped make the situation better?"

Jean peeked out from his place, curiosity overcoming the urge to see what the result of Marco’s question. He wasn’t sure what he would have expected, but it certainly wasn’t what he saw as, one by one, ten hands raised in the air. Some were quicker than others, as expected, but it was a gradual process nonetheless that had his heart clenching and almost caused his eyes to be pricked with tears. He would have looked away if it wasn’t for the fact that his boyfriend had, once again, started to speak, and he couldn’t force himself to look away.

"Jean isn't just a good friend of mine. I value him for everything that he is because it just means I get to spend time with him—and that includes his bad traits. I love being around him, I really do. When he's sad, I get to cheer him up. If he's flirty, I get to flirt back. Being around him…it makes me happy. And when he's around me, it makes him happy too; I can tell. He doesn't smile a lot, so you can tell when he really is enjoying himself. And I know it's strange to define someone as grumpy as him as 'happy'. But I mean what I say. We enjoy each other for the things that make us laugh and cry, and scream and smile. That's what… That's what love is. And that's how I feel about Jean… I love him for everything he is and more. And I can't imagine not having him in my life."

Those last lines were the last he heard before he stood and made his way back to his bed. He had already heard enough for one sitting, and if he listened in anymore, he would have made it unintentionally obvious that he was eavesdropping on their hearing, which was something that he didn't want. Once he had gotten himself under the covers, what was left of his last cup of tea in hand, it came to his realization that he felt the same as Marco did. Having him in his life, by his side, was something Jean imagined and experienced and enjoyed, and he had difficulty seeing a future without him. Even if they were opposites in an innumerable amount of ways—Jean a grumpy, hard-to-please musician in Fiji, and Marco a friendly, happy-go-lucky chef in Pike—their differences pulled them together. One without the other, in terms of them talking regularly and having some form of a relationship, was unthinkable.

"Hey, sorry for taking so long. I got your tea and crackers!"

Marco entered the room quietly, his voice soft as he replaced the empty mug with one steaming with tea. The musician, who had rolled over with his back facing the door, didn't acknowledge him, his mind still too jumbled to manage proper words. The Californian sat down at the end of his bed regardless, opening up a fresh bag of crackers, and let out a long sigh.

"So, I just had a hearing to make sure that I'm a good choice for you? It was a little weird to experience, not gonna lie. But it was nice. They really do care a lot about you, and they want to make sure you’re not going to—Jean?”

The shorter had sat up as his boyfriend spoke, weakly gripping the tea close to his chest. When he had focused his gaze on Marco, he hadn’t realized he was crying silently until a dotted hand reached up and cleared away the tracks with a swift flick of his thumb. Jean clenched his eyes shut and wiped what was left onto the back of his hand, sniffling, and then leaned against the wall.

“What happened?” The Californian scooted closer to him so that their sides were touching. He didn’t make any further move except for his eyes, which watched him with patience and worry.

For a short moment, Jean didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to, in fear of his voice cracking. He regained control of his whirring mind and let out a long sigh before he finally spoke up. “How do you see so much in me?” He asked. “People who have known me since I could walk can’t even say that stuff about me. But you can.”

The taller shifted, eyebrows creasing as he frowned. “You heard what happened, then.”

“I did, yeah. And I’m having a little trouble understanding it.”

Marco frowned, pausing before he continued. “Well…I do see a lot in you, Jean.”

“Why?”

“Well, why not?”

“Because I…” He stopped himself before he finished the sentence; their conversation in self-appreciation had already come and gone. Saying that he wasn’t worth it, even if that was the main reason, wasn’t going to help either of them.

The dark-haired male gently moved his hands so that their hands tangled together, and then squeezed. “I do that for everyone; it's who I am. I look at all of a person, not just the good or bad sides. But it's special for you because I can't imagine spending my life with anyone but you. I care about you a lot, Jean. And that includes everything that makes you who you are, no matter how ugly or pretty it is."

Jean fixed his stare from their entwined hands to the hazelnut eyes that locked onto his the moment they made contact. Despite his sickly state and despite his personal view on himself, if he could, he would put the two of them together, side by side, with no worries and all the time in the world. His most important goal in their relationship was to make sure they ended up with one another and lived to the fullest extent of life and beyond. "When you said that last part, about the, um…loving part—"

Marco didn't hesitate to respond back with full honesty and sincerity. "I meant it."

"I would hope so." He let out a small laugh, though it was strained in a mixture of his cold and attempt to hold back how he felt. "I was going to ask if you were ready to say it to me or not."

"Oh." The chef bowed his head to gaze at his feet, his expression a mixture of confusion and thought. "I'm actually not sure about that."

"Please don't feel like you have to right now." Jean tilted his head away momentarily to cough to the side. "It'll take me a while to say it too. We don't have to rush anything."

"That sounds good." Marco smiled, and leaned forward to kiss the Virginian gently on his temple. "I can take the wait."

"And we can do it together."

"Together sounds a whole lot better than doing it alone."

The musician hummed and rested his head against the taller male's shoulder. The warmth radiating off of him lowered his level of worry and relaxed him for the time being. If it stayed as the two of them, everything would work out in the long run. If they fought, if there were doubts, if all hope of moving on was hopeless, they would still find a way to succeed and move on as one.

"Oh, by the way, you got out of bed and broke the rules, so I'm gonna have to take my kiss back."

"Try it and see what happens, Robodt."

x-x-x

 _Christmas Day_  
_8:40 AM_

"Your boyfriend passed. He's basically perfect."

Jean had expected a bit more finesse from Eren when he gave him the results from the hearing, which had happened only a few days earlier. Unfortunately, he had been hoping on someone who wasn't known for subtlety. Eren had plopped down beside him, on Christmas morning after presents had been opened, with a huff that showed just how irritated he was to be sent outside. The two-toned-haired male only rolled his eyes and leaned back in the swing that hung from the porch, situating his blanket tighter around him. "Merry Christmas to you too."

"Shut up, horse face, lemme fucking get there." He paused for a moment before he spoke in a low voice; "Merry Christmas."

The taller snorted, with another roll of his eyes, before he unfolded the paper given to him. It was from Ymir's notes initially, with additional "info" from Reiner scribbled on it as well. It was a strange mixture of amusement—"Freckled Jesus is very cute for a guy who has more freckles than me"—to serious notes that were actually thought out well—"clairvoyant and caring; likes to think of others before himself". "Well. This is impressive." Jean skimmed over the rest of what was on the two papers before he refolded them and placed them in the space between him and Eren.

"Everyone else is making breakfast for you and Marco in there."

"On Christmas Day?"

"Don't shoot the fucking messenger; I only came out here because someone needs to keep you away from the kitchen until they're done."

"What the hell; I wasn't even going to freak out on you. Stop being so dramatic, Madonna."

"Oh yeah, because I totally wanted to do this as much as you did!"

"Tch, at least you're not sick. Let's leave the one with the cold outside so he can get even sicker and possibly even _die_!"

"Shut up, Cher. Your head is so far up your ass, you really don't need anyone to look after it."

"Fuck you, that's gross."

Eren sent him a glower at that, burrowing himself into his scarf and jacket, most likely to keep warm from the winter chill that swept over them. Even with their constant bickering and butting heads, it was pitiful to see the other in that state. Scooting closer to the green-eyed male, Jean extended one side of his blanket to drape over Eren's shoulder. Almost instantly, he was met with a slap on the hand and a shove.

"I don't need it, shithead. You're only gonna spread your germs."

The musician, insulted, continued to try and help the other out. "Shut up, you're cold as fuck—hold still!"

"Quit it!"

"No!"

For a moment, it seemed like Eren would actually be victorious in keeping the blanket off of him. However, Jean was just as persistent and just as stubborn, and, after one last shove, wrapped his arms around the shorter and tugged him into his lap. The dark-haired male gasped quietly under his breath and gazed at the taller in shock, a light red tint adorning his cheeks, before a pout formed instead.

"Fucking cheat," he huffed with a cross of his arms. He didn't, however, make any further movements to get out of his grasp or lap.

"I'm only doing this because you look pathetic when you're cold," Jean pointed out with a glare.

"Uh-huh, sure you are."

Nothing further was said from the two, as the snow continued to fall lightly and dust the ground and anything else in its path. Any further chill that came by was met with little to no reaction, as the blanket around both of them was thick enough to hold it out. Their extreme dislike of each other pushed aside the fact that neither of them appreciated the cold that came with winter.

"You know, doing the hearing last Monday got me thinking," Eren broke the silence in a low voice.

"Yeah?" Jean continued to watch the snow fall and build up. "And what's that?"

"What it would be like if we still had our fling thing. Whatever it is we had."

The taller gave him an incredulous stare, complete with bewilderment. From the middle of their sophomore to the end of their junior year in high school, Jean and Eren had had a relationship that was considered “friends with benefits”. There were no romantic feelings from either side, a fact that they had stated early on. They kept it secret from everyone as best they could, in fear of a misunderstanding. The kisses and hickeys and late night adventures under the sheets were nothing but a release of sexual energy and tension. For two of the loudest mouths in their group of friends, it was impressive that they were able to keep up their secret.

Eren's eyebrows furrowed once he looked back at Jean, and he sneered; "I was just wondering about it, back off."

"You think I'm just gonna drop this shit?" The musician scoffed. "If you're gonna mention that, you might as well tell me what you were thinking."

"I am! It's just… Look, I volunteered to be with Sasha and Connie, alright? It would have been Armin, but I took it instead because I actually know how you feel about Marco. Remember that one time when we got super drunk and had sex in the treehouse?"

"On your seventeenth birthday?"

"Yeah, and you told me about Marco and how no one else has treated you the way he does. At first, I thought it was crazy; you can't love someone you've never met in person before. But I couldn't get mad at you for that when we're technically breaking society's ‘rule’ that marriage is between a man and a woman. If you love someone, then you should be with them. Nothing should hold you back. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, fuck them.”

“Huh… You know, for an idiot, you can be insightful sometimes.”

“Ha ha, so funny. I’m being serious.”

“I know.” Jean paused to shift the blanket over them. “Do you have something with someone like that? Like, with what you told me?”

Eren tensed up at the mention, though nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. I…I guess you can say that.”

“You sound uncertain.”

“Well, I don’t know what it is, dumbass. We don’t talk about it a lot. And it’s not like we could be public about it anyways.”

“Is it Professor Levi?”

“Get your fucking nose out of my business.”

“I was asking a question, shitface.”

“And I gave you an answer, horsefuck.”

“Alright, that’s it—” The taller gathered the shorter firmly into his arms and walked to the edge of the porch.

“Hell no, Jean—”

Eren was tossed from his grasp before his sentence could be finished, and the dark-haired male landed face-first into the pile of snow that was still present from the day before.

The musician snorted, fixing the fluffy blanket draped on his shoulders. “That’s what you get for making a horse joke.”

“Your breakfast is done.”

Mikasa stood shoulder to shoulder to Jean, causing him to jump in alarm when she appeared and spoke suddenly. “Err—hey, thanks, uhh—”

“I thought I reminded you to not bully my brother.”

“I wasn’t—” “Mikasa, come on—”

The female walked over to her brother and helped him stand. “Enjoy your breakfast, Jean. Merry Christmas.”

He nodded, despite his obvious hesitance. Eren was someone he could easily handle in a fight, but Mikasa was someone who was not only intimidating with just her presence, but someone he didn’t want to face. “Thanks. Merry Christmas.”

When he returned inside, the two in the backyard exiting from the back, heat enveloped him almost immediately and started to warm him up. The kitchen was decorated with tinsel along the entrances, and a Christmas wreath hung on the walls and chairs. Even a mistletoe was hung over the table beneath the dimmed light. The real source of light came from two candles atop the table, adding a romantic-esque feel to the scene. The surface of the circular table was covered with steaming plates of breakfast foods: pancakes, bacon, an omelette for two, an assortment of fresh fruit, and a basket of muffins. Two glasses were filled with a red-pink liquid—and, judging from the blender on the counter, must have been an experiment on a smoothie that he could only hope tasted good.

And to complete it all, Marco stood in the middle of it all, surrounded by the warm atmosphere and adding a bit of his own. His chocolate eyes reflected from the candlelight revealed and barely contained the joy he was feeling, and it overflowed from him. In his hands, and what held his attention, was a card the same size as a composition notebook. He was unsure what was written inside, but whatever it was kept a smile on the Californian’s face. When he looked up and noticed his boyfriend standing nearby, the grin widened, followed by a laugh that was nothing but pure happiness and contentment. “Merry Christmas, Jean.”

Jean smiled back and walked over to him before he pulled him in for a hug, draping the blanket over his shoulders and enveloping both of them beneath it. Marco could only laugh and pull the Virginian closer to him. The shorter could vaguely remember asking Santa, as a young boy, to meet his friend Marco. Even if the gift was late, and even if he wasn’t with the cooks of what smelled like a delicious breakfast, having the person he couldn’t imagine his life without by his side was enough of a reply from such a wish. “Merry Christmas, Marco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please do not hesitate to ask me any questions about the court scene stated above to clear up any confusion for you.


	23. Photographs and Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's 2015! Things get interesting.
> 
> Because people are asking about it: this was written BEFORE the Supreme Court created and confirmed marriage equality. So that's why they may mention it and be like "oh if only". Though I'm more than sure that VA (Virginia) had already passed it in their state before the other southern states. But regardless, that's the case and yeah.
> 
> This has probably one of my favorite scenes in the entire series. It's not my favorite chapter, but from the middle onwards, it's just. I love it. And I hope you feel the same.
> 
> You are exquisite.

**January 2015**

_Velociraptor?_

_Okay new game bc you keep on cheating_

_I’m not cheating I just know my dino names :)_

_Don’t give me that emoticon_

_:) :) :)_

Jean flicked his boyfriend and shot him an amused glare before he had to look back at the notebook he was currently trying to take notes in. Christmas break had ended and students reported back to campus January 9th. Break had gone by at a regular pace, and the first day of classes had already started to consume them once again. Professor Levi was already irked by the time class started, complete with no small talk and a slammed door, and when he was in that bad of a mood, he was relentless. He didn't stop for questions, and he didn't stop his lecture or his pacing in front of the class. Jean was curious as to what had annoyed him so much, and a quick glance at Eren told him that the other was just as much in the dark as he was.

Checking to make sure Levi's attention was nowhere near them, the musician hastily wrote on the sticky note: _Heading to studio after lunch. Where do you wanna go?_

Marco's eyes flitted to the paper, but jumped when a textbook was dropped in front of him. Although Levi didn't say anything to him, the glare given was enough to render him silent and still. When he turned, the freckled male quickly doodled a sandwich; Sal's Subs was not too far away from where Jean worked on his internship. It was their best option for something fast and edible.

As soon as class was over, the Californian leaned forward and whispered, "Why are you heading to the studio? Did they change your schedule?"

"Someone else with the internship has to have her gallbladder removed, so she'll be out for a bit," he shrugged. "Eld and Gunther said I'm the best to fill in for her."

"Oh wow; is it only for this week?"

"This week and next week. I'll get credit for it though at least."

"Hey, where are you guys going?" Connie asked the duo before they could leave the row they were standing in. "Levi asked some of us to stay behind so he can talk to us about something."

"Levi? As in short, grumpy asshole Levi?"

"Jean, why are you describing yourself?"

"Marco, why are you asking for a death wish?"

"Stop flirting, guys, this is serious," the shorter frowned. “Have you seen him today? He’s obviously pissed about something.”

“Con, relax,” Jean rolled his eyes. “It’s probably nothing bad. We got our shit figured out.”

“You don’t know that. Colleges always messed things up.”

“You’ve only gone to one college; how do you know that?”

“No one’s in trouble, brats. Shut up and let me tell you.”

Levi had walked out of the room momentarily, and then reappeared with a handful of papers in hand. He looked slightly better than he had been all day, but it wasn’t enough to calm him completely.

“Here;” he placed the stack of paper on the table and started to hand them out. “Take one. You’re going to need it for what I’m going to talk to you about.” Their professor didn’t say anything further until each of them had a packet, entitled “Equal Adoration, Same Love: What It Means” at the top. “A few friends and I have gotten together to start a campaign that promotes safe and secure lives for couples and individuals in the LGBT+ community. It’s small, but we’re slowly building it somewhere. The best way to have it noticed is to get it advertised and to gather a crowd for the events we're holding. That's where you come in. We don’t just need to get this out there; we need faces for it as well. We’re having a photoshoot on Saturday, January 31st, at eleven. You'll take a few pictures, answer some questions in front of a camera–nothing difficult but definitely personal. Food will be provided. If you don’t want to participate, it doesn't mean the end of the world. And this won’t affect your academic performance in any way.”

“Why us?” Reiner asked.

“Why not? I’ve seen how you all act around each other. If we need a pair of brats to show their love for each other, you’re the best choices.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Levi rolled his eyes. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Braun.”

“Are we getting paid?” Ymir inquired.

“Look, this isn’t ‘Twenty Questions’. It’s a photoshoot. You come, eat, have a few laughs, do something that shows your interpretation of your relationship. This shouldn’t be hard; almost all of you are in a relationship, and two of you are straight.” His eyes flickered over to Sasha and Connie, both who blushed and shook their heads vigorously. “Oh please, don’t fucking deny it. You’re the only pair actually accepted by society and you deny having any sort of romantic relationship?”

“But we’re not a—” “There’s nothing—”

Levi snorted and cut them off. “Regardless, I’ll have to use you two together if you’re going to participate. Now fuck off; I’ll see you all next Monday–and Eren? Would you mind coming here for a moment?”

x-x-x

“I still haven’t told Sasha what I told Alex.”

“Fucking what? What’s holding you back, idiot?!”

Jean and Marco had been heading to Sal’s Subs, Connie silently following them, when he spoke up during a break in their conversation. It was only a slight surprise to hear him speak, but what he had said was even more shocking.

“I’m trying to find the right moment to do it!” The shorter snapped with a frown. “I-I can’t just go up to her and tell her that out of the blue!”

“Maybe you’re just thinking about it too much?” Marco offered. “If you just come out and say it, it might be easier.”

“I’ve tried that in the mirror already.”

Jean scoffed; “Nerd.”

“Hey, shut up. You haven’t been in my place before.”

“Yeah, because I’m not an idiot like you.”

“Fuck you, you’re not helping me.”

“Guys, come on—” The Californian attempted to stop the fight, but Jean pulled his hand out of his grasp and stopped the shorter from walking further.

“I don’t have an obligation to help you out when I’m going out with my boyfriend,” Jean sneered. As much as Connie was his best friend, someone who knew him just as well as Marco did, there was no way he was going to let such a miniscule problem drag him in. And he refused to see it eat away at his friend as well. “If you wanna talk about it, and if you want me to help, I'll give you advice. But not like this. I got things to do, Con; I can't be focused on shit like this. It’s petty.”

The shortest of the three had looked away during the speech, almost as if he was ashamed of his behavior. He didn't say anything at first; he wrapped his arms around his shoulders as a chilly breeze passed by. It only added to the unpleasant atmosphere that couldn't even be chopped up by a butcher knife. “So I can help you out when you need it, but you can’t do the same for me? Real reasonable, Jean.”

“I never asked for—”

“You know what, Con, let’s go out for lunch,” Marco interjected. He stepped forward and took Connie’s hand in his before he shot both him and Jean a bright, reassuring smile. “It’s always good to talk to someone when you’re having trouble with a friend.”

The musician frowned and started after them. “But Marco—”

“There will be tons of time for us to spend together. One afternoon with someone who’s been your best friend since kindergarten isn’t going to kill you. And what he said is true: he helped you out a lot before we were together. So why shouldn’t you do the same?”

One side of him wanted to take the Californian and bring him to Sal’s, just the two of them. However, the look of desperation and sorrow on the shortest male’s face was enough to convince him of what he should do. Connie needed someone to talk to, and even if he hadn’t asked for it, he had aided Jean in his unspoken time of need. Who was he to deny his friend the same thing? “Alright. Fine. But I’m paying.”

“Haha, okay, Mister Tough Guy. We’ll see about that.”

x-x-x

 _January 31st_  
_12 noon_

"Name and major."

"Sasha Braus, communications."

"Room 213, up the stairs backstage, second door on the right. You guys are gonna be up soon; Ral will come and get you guys when you’re on."

"Alright, thanks!"

The day of the photoshoot started off in a mayhem of papers and running around from both the students and those who were in charge of the event. Levi hardly left the set, coffee mug in hand, as he read off interview questions for those who had already signed in and were ready. Petra and Aurou, both who worked in the communications department at Stohess, were either behind the camera or fixing a minor issue on set. Eld and Gunther were getting paperwork sorted, and also had the unfortunate duty of keeping those who hadn't been interviewed yet contained and away from the set as much as possible. It looked professional for a new organization, yet mediocre at the same time, with only five staff members and a studio that usually worked as a theater.

"Name and–oh, hey Jean!" Eld greeted him with a smile. "Wasn't expecting you here.

"Same here," Jean nodded in greeting. Even though he had been at the radio station for four days this week, neither of his mentors had said anything about the photoshoot.

"We can fill out the rest of the form for you," Gunther informed him. "You're in room 215: up the stairs backstage, third door on the right."

"Thanks."

"Oh, by the way, thanks for telling us you’re dating Marco," the blond commented with a smirk, his partner doing the same. "What, you’re not allowed to tell anyone?"

The musician snorted as he headed for the room he was given; "Okay, Dad. I'll bring him in next week. Just don’t stand outside with a baseball bat, waiting to beat him up."

"I would never; c'mon, you know me better than that."

"Eld–"

"Alright, alright, take it easy. I’m just messing with ya.”

“Oh, by the way,” Gunther called after him, “is your major called 'horse studies'? Or do they use 'equestrian'?"

Jean held back the anger that boiled inside of him—he had been surprisingly calmer since he had started dating Marco, and wasn’t prone to yelling matches—and only smirked at the laughing duo. "As long as your occupations are called ‘cannabis enthusiasts’, yeah."

Sasha had been waiting for him backstage once he got there, after almost running into an arguing pair of professors. He had seen Ral and Bossard before, from the radio station with Eld and Gunther—they were apparently college buddies—and Levi’s room, so their bickering wasn’t new to him. The brunette, however, standing by the stairway for him instead of going to her room, was something that he hadn’t expected at all.

"Hey, Jay? If there was something I did that made Connie upset, you would tell me, right?" She frowned, eyes revealing the worry that gnawed inside her. "He's been acting weird lately, and he’s doing the turtle thing again.”

“Turtle thing?” Jean raised an eyebrow in question.

“You know, when you can tell something’s wrong but he won’t tell you and he acts all passive-aggressive about it? I can't tell if it's something I did or what, and it’s really starting to worry me."

"You didn't do anything. What could you have done, anyway?" It was a lie in the sense that it wasn't what had Connie acting strange, though no one could deny his off behavior. "Whatever's eating at him is probably something little." That, however, as wrong as it was and felt to lie to her, was the best he could tell her.

Sasha had sighed and relaxed at his words, her relief able to calm Jean’s erratic heartbeats. "Yeah, probably. Heh, he can be so silly with that sort of thing."

"That's true."

"…if you find anything out…"

"You'll be the first person I tell."

The statement was enough to reassure her, and to raise her spirits up. She pulled Jean in for a quick hug, one he was cautious to return. "You're the best, Jean."

 _You wouldn't say that if you knew what I knew._ "I've seen better."

"Oh—and good luck with your shoot! Remember, a single 'neigh' can go a long way."

"Haha, you're so funny, please, stop before my sides split from the agony."

As soon as Jean entered the room assigned to him, he took off his coat and jabbed a finger at Connie, who was seated in a worn beanbag chair. "You fucking dipshit," he glared, catching the attention of the five other individuals in the room. "You better tell Sasha what you told Alex, because I just had to _lie_ to her and tell her that it has nothing to do with her, and I couldn't do _anything_ but _stand_ there while she called me 'the best'."

Connie, who had been digging through a Chinese take-out box, blinked owlishly at him, partially confused and furious. His legs were sprawled on the floor, while the rest of his body was held up by the chair he was in. His mouth was smeared with what appeared to be soy sauce and fried rice, making it difficult to take him seriously.

"Hello, grumpy boyfriend," Marco greeted him from the sofa, and held out one of the boxes for him. "Please sit by me and be not-grumpy so that we can be normal people. Also, we have chicken."

The room itself wasn't entirely bad, and was decent enough. It was a dressing room, with three giant, separate vanity stations on one wall and a number of tables on the same wall as the entrance. The opposite side of the room, complete with a wide window view of Trost, was for relaxation purposes: a love seat, a handful of beanbag chairs, and three high chairs that directors used, but were meant for the boudoirs.

Jean took the box and plopped down in front of his boyfriend with a roll of his eyes. He tilted his head back to receive a short peck, and then dug into his food. "Your bribing worked, but I'm still pissed," he stated.

"What did you tell her?" Connie asked in a small voice, his hazel eyes brimming with confusion and fear.

"I already said that I told her whatever was bothering you had nothing to do with her and is probably something little. And then she called me 'the best' and hugged me, and she's going to be so pissed at me when she finds out I lied."

" _You_?! She'll be pissed at me too, jackass!"

"Because you haven't told her shit!"

"I actually told her something the other day, smartie! Think before you speak!"

"You two sound like a married couple," Reiner interjected with a snort.

"Shut up, Reindeer." "You're a married couple."

"Do you even know what you're fighting about in the first place?"

Connie stuffed his face with rice and shot a glare at Jean, before he answered the question; "I ran into Alex Vancoven at that party we went to during Christmas break, and I told him Sasha and I were dating."

"Wait a sec, hold on," Eren started, setting down his box of food. "You're upset because you told Sasha's shitty ex that you guys are dating."

"Yeah?"

"And you haven't told her yet."

"Exactly."

"Okay, so what's the problem?"

" _That's_ the problem, man! I can't keep secrets from Sasha; she _knows_ things. She can read me like an open book."

"She already knows something's bugging him," Jean pointed out.

"Exactly! I can't hide from her. I’m surprised I’m even able to keep this from her."

"But you guys aren't dating," Armin mused.

"Well—"

"Yeah, why are you getting your panties in a twist over something that's not even true?" Reiner added.

"No offense, but you're getting yourself worked up over something that isn't really that big of a deal," Marco piped in.

The photographer, his hands squeezing the takeout box, growled. "Guys, you don't understand—she already rejected me and said she doesn't want to go out with me!" He snapped. "If she hears I told Vancoven, of all people, that we're dating, she's not gonna talk to me anymore!"

"You asked her out?" Eren said, eyebrows raised.

"Once the day after Halloween, and then before that in August.”

“August _and_ Halloween?”

“Yeah—stop it, Jay, I didn't wanna tell you about August unless she actually cut me off!"

"Right, right, and I'm straight and married with three kids," Jean snorted, smirking when he heard Marco mumble "thank God you're not" behind him. "If I had known that, I wouldn't have told you to go for her in the first place."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Connie groaned and leaned forward so that his forehead touched the ground, his arms slumped against his sides. "Someone please kill me. I'm in love with the most amazing woman I've ever met and she's never gonna want to date me."

"Why did she say 'no' in the first place—if it's alright to ask?" Bertolt wondered.

"It's fine. She said she didn't wanna ruin our friendship."

"Dating your best friend isn't a bad thing," Armin remarked. “That’s usually the whole point, isn’t it? When you’re dating someone, and you really care for them, they become your top priority.”

"Yeah, exactly—look at me and Bert, for example," Reiner offered, followed by a wide smile. "We were best friends before we dated and we're fine."

The bald male sat up to look at the two couples and scoffed. "That's a completely different story, dude. You've been dating for like, seven years now."

"More like two," the tallest of the seven weakly smiled. "And it's kind of similar; we've been best friends since pre-school, and then in high school—"

"Hormones."

"Reiner, please. The point is, it's not a bad thing to date your best friend, especially when you can prove that it's good."

"Pff. I already told her that," Connie sighed. "She said she doesn't want to date her best friend; she wants to date someone that becomes her best friend. And that made it even worse. Either way, I’m getting the short end of the stick."

“It’s possible to still have a best friend who you’re not in a relationship with,” Jean rolled his eyes. "I do it with you and Marco. And there’s no way she can replace you in the first place."

"Easy for you to say! You and Freckled Jesus are walking on water!"

"Did you mean to make that pun?"

"Yes, shut up."

"I think it'll be alright in the end," Marco smiled. "You and Sasha are close for a reason; everything will turn out okay!"

"If not, there's always men," Eren said.

The shorter shot him an irritated glower; "I'm straight." The reaction in the room was a compilation of amused snorts and held-back laughter. "Ugh; _I'm not into guys._ Is that better?"

"Eh. If you want, Aslan."

"Jean, I fucking swear—"

"That reminds me, since we're talking about relationships," the musician smirked at Eren, "are you and Levi gonna walk down the aisle soon?"

The green-eyed male, at first, split into a fit of horror, then of surprise, and lastly anger. "Oh my God, I fucking hate you, I hope you stab your eye out on a dick."

"Is it _a_ dick, or _my_ dick?" Marco mused. "Because there should only be one kind of white, sticky stuff on mine."

The loud chorus of laughter accompanied Eren as he stormed out of the room.

x-x-x

Once they were needed, Petra coming up to fetch them, the group of six made their way to the set downstairs. Historia and Sasha, Jean could see, were already chatting with Levi and the others, but the shared look of annoyance from the other three females in AOPi that was given to Connie confirmed the fact that Sasha was just as tiring about Connie as he was to them.

"I'm going to throw myself in a dumpster," he moaned, and spared a glance up at Marco and Jean. "What if I forget how to act cool with her?"

"You're not gonna forget," the freckled male stated, turned the shorter around so that he faced Sasha's turned back, and pushed him forward. "Now go make nice!"

"And don't hurt yourself this time," Jean reminded him. "It's Sasha, for fuck's sake. You know her; you got this."

As Connie cautiously went up to the bubbly brunette, Reiner leaned over to the duo and said in a low voice, "You know, you two would make great parents."

Jean's nose crinkled at the thought of being a parent; he had always had difficulty with younger kids. It gave him too many headaches and too many things to worry about at once. Marco, on the contrary, shrugged and smiled at the thought.

"I think we would too!" He grinned. "And the same goes for you and Bert–you'd be awesome!"

"Reiner can't tell a diaper from a blanket," Bertolt hummed.

"Hey!"

The taller laughed and smiled at the blond. "But I think we would enjoy it a lot."

Jean pulled his attention away from the two when Marco nudged him softly. "Do you not like kids?"

The musician shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not a fan," he stated. "Never had good experiences with them."

The freckled male seemed to think on that for a second before he nodded. "Okay."

"…okay…? What?"

"Okay. We won't have kids."

"I don't—"

He smiled warmly; "If you don't want kids, we won't have them. It'll be the two of us."

Jean's mouth gaped open like a fish before he frowned and huffed; "Nuh-uh, you don't have to do that self-sacrificing shit for me! I've never been good with  them, but that doesn't mean we don't have to have them! If you want a kid, we'll get a kid. Hell, we'll get them all if you want."

"But that's not what you—"

"Don't finish that, because I know what you're doing. You don’t have to give up what you want just because it’s not what I want. I want you to be happy so that I can be happy, and that's the only thing I want in life. I'll do whatever it takes to reach that for both of us."

This time, it was Marco's turn to gape at him, and when he finally found the words to speak, it was with a gentle grin. "You need to marry me."

"Okay. I'll marry you. Tell me when."

"Right now."

"Okay. Will you marry me?"

"Jean—"

"Whatever you want, I'll get it for you. You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down."

"You can't quote 'It's a Wonderful Life', you cheater! Now I _have_ to marry you."

"Why, so I can make corny jokes and play weird little gigs?"

"So I can make corny jokes with you and cook good food for when you come home."

"Ah. That doesn't sound too bad."

"And we can have kids."

"How many?"

"Whatever sounds nice."

"Two."

"Two kids."

"And a dog."

"And a house—don't forget a house, Jean."

"Right, right, a house. Small, simple."

"That smells like candles from Bath and Body Works."

"And food."

"And we'll have a plant."

"A plant?"

"A plant."

"…and we'll have a plant."

"And we can hold hands, like this," Marco entwined their hands together, palm against palm, "and we can kiss, like this," their lips met sweetly, short yet tender, "and we can live forever."

Jean hummed quietly. "Are you sure you want to live with a grumpy, hot-headed musician who probably swears too much and forgets how to smile?"

"Are you sure you want to live with a naïve, happy chef who probably smiles too much and forgets everything but how to love?"

"Since the first time I read 'dear Jean hello'."

"Good, because I've been waiting since 'dear Marco hello'."

"Huh. Then it looks like we'll be alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down." is a quote from the movie "It's a Wonderful Life". No spoilers if you haven't seen it, but it's about a man who imagines what it would be like if he was never born, and he gets to see what his world would be like. It's very good, very heartwarming, kinda Christmasy but you can watch it whenever.


	24. Dates and Worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay now this is my favorite chapter. I don't know why, but it is.
> 
> ***WARNING: Handjob/blowjob coming up in this chapter. Some exhibitionism is also in here. If that makes you uncomfortable, skip to the next "x-x-x". I DO NOT condone the actions in this chapter. Public masturbation is illegal, and this is fictional. So there.***
> 
> Enjoy it while you can, kids. Shit starts to get messy now.
> 
> ALSO!!! If you're into Ereri of any kind, check out the next story I'm posting today called "Strawberries and Cigarettes" to make up for the lack of Ereri in here.
> 
> You are stunning.

School continued on without any hassle. February, so far, contained no drama, no struggles, and very little room for worry. Connie and Sasha were building their relationship and any doubt that either had was diminishing with each smile and laugh they had, though he was still prone to panicking when it was unnecessary. Although it wasn’t a verbal indication, Annie and Mikasa were spending more time together, going on dates and places they had never been before. Eren’s nights out were longer and more constant, but as tired as it made him, he returned with a satisfied smile and a sigh. The siblings still maintained a close relationship, though it wasn’t as possessive as it had been. Marco came by from Pike more frequently, sometimes staying so late that he would end up sleeping over, which was met with no protest and was always offered to him.

Even with the positive relationships, however, with the current circumstances and the events playing out, it was clear that the peace wouldn’t last long. Connie’s worry transformed into panic attacks that were, so far, not in Sasha’s company but took as much as two hours to completely calm him down. With Eren staying out longer and with little to no explanation, Mikasa grew more skeptical and started to drift away, slowly yet surely, despite Annie’s wishes. No one was sure how things would improve, or if they would. Even the most optimistic of the bunch were starting to fret and wonder if the struggles would decrease.

Concerning Jean and Marco, their relationship was just as it had been. With the occasional date, they spent time together as both best friends and boyfriends. One moment would be spent holed up in the library studying, trying to hide the dozens of paper airplanes they had created for battle, and the next, they could be sharing an ice cream at the diner and battle for who paid for it. Although they couldn’t spend all of their time together, both occupied with internships and separate fraternity events, they both enjoyed the fact that they could spend a reasonable amount of time hanging out and doing other things.

One particular evening, in mid-February, caught their attention. A flux of events pertaining to their frat kept them from talking at meals and in between classes, even texting, but limited their last night out to two weeks prior. As soon as they were free, on a Saturday, they scheduled a movie date with Bertolt and Reiner. There was one horror movie that seemed decent enough to see, and they set it up immediately.

“You look nice for a movie,” Marco complimented him as he walked out of Pike’s house just a few doors down.  “Well, you always look nice, but still!’

“Because it’s cold as shit,” Jean huffed, digging his face further into his scarf as the duo walked to the car waiting for them. He had dressed as he usually did for the brutal winter weather, something familiar yet casual, and the comment sent a wave of heat running through his cheeks. The shorter held the door open for him. “It’s fucking February; it shouldn't be this cold out."

“February’s—thank you!—February’s technically a winter month.” The taller scooted in to the far side of the car, behind shotgun. “Wimpy boyfriend. Hey guys!”

“Hey Marocco,” Reiner greeted from the passenger seat. “Is he still whining about the weather?”

“Because he doesn’t know how to do anything else? Yep!”

“Uh, excuse you, I’m not that boring,” the musician scowled. “I talk about other things.”

“Like what,” Reiner started to count on his fingers, “music, Marco, how much you _love_ Marco—”

“Look who’s talking! You only ever talk about _your_ boyfriend!”

“I would like to not fight while we’re on the way there,” Bertolt stated as he started to drive out of the campus and to the movie theater.

“Sorry, babe.” “ _They_ started it.”

“So, what’s this movie about again?” The chef wondered. “Demons, or…something that’s kinda fictional?”

“Ahaha, you're funny," the blond remarked with little amusement in his voice. "It's about this family who gets their kids into cannibals and then they try to either turn the town or eat everyone. I can’t remember; Miri suggested it for us. But it’s apparently just as gory as the old ‘Halloween’, so who knows?"

"Oh. That sounds lovely."

"Sounds more like vampires," Jean snorted.

"If it was, we wouldn't be going to see it," mentioned Bertolt, to which Reiner attempted to sputter out a protest. Everyone who knew Reiner Braun was aware of the fact that as tough as he came off to be, just under two hundred pounds at six-foot-one, a simple horror movie, good or bad, terrified him beyond belief, specifically if ghosts were involved. The comical “Ghostbusters” wasn’t even a laughing matter for him.

Marco shrugged. "I think it'll be good. And if not, it'll be a good date at least!" He gave Jean a smile as he said that and rested his hand atop his, to which the musician curled their fingers together and gave a squeeze.

The theater had a decent crowd out that night, and a parking spot was easily found. Even with the weather as chilly as it was, it was worth it to continue to hold Marco's hand and say that it was to prevent his fingers from freezing through his gloves.

"You guys get the tickets, and Jean and I will go get some snacks," Reiner declared, and was already pulling him along before he could get out a protest.

"You dick, I didn't sign up for this!" The two-toned-haired male snapped, pulling his arm back and glaring at his friend. "I'm here to go on a date, not star in 'Taken 4'!"

"Stop yelling, I wanna ask you something." As they got in line for concessions, the taller student's face turned deadly serious. "You and Marco are fine, right? No arguments, no weird vibes, nothing?"

Jean raised an eyebrow at the question and took a small step back. He wasn't sure where this question was coming from, or why it was being asked, and he didn't like it. "We're fine, yeah. Nothing's wrong."

Reiner nodded, though he still seemed uneasy, and his broad shoulders had barely loosened up from their tense position. "Good. That's…good."

"Why are you even asking me?"

"Because I…" He let out a long sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing under whatever he had been holding back. "I don't know, man. I've been thinking about what's been going on with everyone else. Connie's having panic attacks almost every day over Sasha. Annie and Mikasa are hanging on by a thread at this point. Ymir joked about it the other day and said that at the rate we're going, everyone's gonna end up in some sort of relationship issue. And she and Historia seem alright so far, but…with some couples, you never know, right?"

Jean hummed in agreement, and gave a short nod. He remembered talking about the same thing with Armin a few weeks ago, and had even said he was relieved that he and Marco were comfortable enough with each other to have no problems or arguments. At the time, he didn't think it was even possible to fight with the freckled chef, but now, with Reiner mentioning it, he couldn't help but be worried that everything was going to fall apart.

"You know I'm crazy about Bertolt, right?"

"You scream it from the rooftops every day, yeah."

"True, but not my point. We're complete opposites: he's quiet and collected, I'm…not."

"You're a gay pride parade on legs."

"Thanks. Sometimes I just get the feeling that I'm too much for him. Hell, I can be too much for _myself_ sometimes. But it just…scares me to think that there could be a day where he reaches his breaking point and will be done with me. And trust me—Bertolt is picky with his friends. If he feels like he’s not getting what he’s giving, he’s done. I’ve seen it happen before. And I don't want that to happen. We've been best friends for years, and I…I don’t know how to live without him being by my side. In terms of relationship and stuff, not physically."

"Well, if you want my advice, I wouldn't worry myself shitless over it. Like you said: he's been your best friend since you could practically walk. And neither of you have been perfect; you've both done shit you didn't mean to do. It just happens. You got through it because you care about him, and vice-versa. If you didn't, neither of you would have patched things up in the first place."

The duo ordered the snacks at that time, momentarily putting their conversation on hold. As soon as the cashier went to retrieve the candy and popcorn, Reiner turned back to Jean and smiled at him. It wasn't forced or beguiling, but genuine and content, both which were recognizable when coming from him. "Thanks for saying that."

"No problem; I get where you're coming from. I used to get that when Marco and I first started hanging out in person. But then I realized 'hey, this isn't worth my time. I should be happy we can spend time together and do what friends do'. You just gotta stop giving a shit and be yourself; don't try and change for him–something you never really had a problem with."

"Hah, that's true… I really am glad that you two were able to meet up again. It's good to see you happy like this."

Jean snorted and rolled his eyes as he took popcorn and two boxes of candy. "Yeah, yeah, the grumpy one actually knows how to smile, I get it."

"I was actually gonna reference Grumpy Cat, but that works too."

"Oh good, I'm glad you didn't! I would've knocked you out and left you here."

They met up with Bertolt and Marco in front of the hall that led to each theater. Luckily, they didn't have to go far, and found seats that weren't too close to the screen, but weren't too far either.

"Oh, before I forget, are you gonna do the corny arm-around-the-shoulder thing, or do I have to?" Marco wondered as they sat down and removed their coats.

"If you try it, I'll bite your arm off," Jean scoffed.

"Eh. It's worth it."

The trailers for other movies started then, resulting in small chatters of wanting to see this or that, and when their feature presentation came on, the theater quieted down considerably. The beginning showed what appeared to be a "normal" family located in a suburban town, where their kids had grown up their entire lives. It was able to hold Jean’s interest for long, but when it hit the twenty-minute mark and the parents revealed their secret to their children, the Virginian's attention drifted off to better things. Reiner and Bertolt were apparently enraptured by the movie to focus on anything. Perhaps they were just movie nerds who couldn't look away from a bad film. Marco was the least interested by far; his head rested in his elbow propped up by the armrest, and his eyes closed continuously. If he fell asleep, he wouldn’t hear the last of it.

Though there was something that would keep their attention at the least. It was more than likely illegal, and it could get them kicked out if they were too loud, but it was worth it.

Jean leaned over, checking to see that the other couple was occupied, before he whispered, "Hey, Marco?"

"Hm?" The freckled male looked over and smiled at him.

"Can I touch your crotch?"

Marco's expression dropped to shock, his eyes wide and his positioning straightened. Jean forced himself to stay calm, to look indifferent, but it was worthless. He could already tell that his expression was easily seen through: “this movie sucks, and the only thing I want right now is you”. "I-I…" He licked his lips, shifted in his seat, and nodded. "Y-yeah. Go ahead."

The musician nodded, and turned back to face the movie as he moved his left hand over the armrest. His boyfriend shifted his position so that his legs were on the ground instead of crossed, leaving enough space for Jean’s hand. With a small, quick glance at Reiner and Bertolt, he moved his hand across Marco’s thigh and lightly grasped in between. The Californian inhaled sharply through his nose, lips clamped tightly to prevent any noise from coming out. Jean waited for a moment before he started to move, soft and slow. He didn’t want to startle the other, nor did he want to get caught by anyone who could possibly make a scene or even remove them from the theater. If his boyfriend wanted him to speed up, he would give him that wish.

Sure enough, the Californian soon thrust his hips forward and whispered; “You can go faster.” His eyes were still focused on the movie’s, as Jean was attempting yet failing to perform, but one glance in his eyes told him that his attention was definitely somewhere else. Jean smiled faintly and did as requested; his hand sped up, and the taller nearly bucked forward, keening past his hand. With a simper, his focus traveled back to the movie. Apparently, one of the kids’ teachers had come by for a parent-teacher conference to talk about the child’s work, but it was turning into the first meal for their kids. The acting was terrible, and if he was in that movie, he would have already figured out that there was something wrong with the family.

“This movie sucks,” the two-toned-haired male remarked. “Thank God we found something better to do.”

“M-mm.” Marco nodded shakily. At this point, they had reached a higher risk of getting caught, as he had started to show just how much the hand against his crotch was pleasing him. He had started to bite his hand to suppress his sounds rather than covering it, but at the rate they were going, that would soon prove to be inefficient, especially with the idea he had come across.

“What’s wrong, Mar?” He leaned over and murmured softly against his ear. “Is there something distracting you?”

“Nn—you’re a jerk.”

“Mm, yeah. Should I remove my hand then?” He gave a particularly rough squeeze at that, and then changed pace once again. He palmed against him, making sure to make contact with the head and to allow his fingers to scrape underneath and along the sides of his clothed, erect member.

The chef covered his mouth with both hands now as an open-mouthed cry slipped past his lips. He sent a weak glare, hazelnut eyes mixed with lust and a desire for more. “D-don’t you dare.”

“And what if I did?”

“I’ll kick you out of—out of your seat.”

“Heh, with this standing tall?” Jean stopped moving his hand to lay his palm flat against the bulge and squeezed at the base. “You can barely speak, let alone focus.”

“Jean—” The taller shoved his hips towards the hand against him one last time, and then his eyes shut tight. With his head leaned back, he cried out past his fingers as his legs closed shut together, trapping the musician’s hands between his thighs. Luckily, his climax was reached at a gross yet captivating part of the movie, as told by the shouts and cries of disgust in the theater. Any sound that made its way past Marco’s hand was, as far as they knew, unnoticed. Jean made sure to keep his fingers moving throughout the climax, and didn’t cease until he had come down from the high and relaxed. He wiped his hand on his jeans, ignoring the fact that he now had the same problem in his own pants. At least the other couple on their double date was still paying attention to the movie.

"You have a problem too," Marco remarked in observation, his eyes drifting back to the screen despite being hazy.

"I guess I do," Jean hummed.

The movie carried on for a brief moment: one of the kids, the oldest, was starting to get into cannibalism. The effects on the bodies were terrible; it was obvious they were fake. Lack of budget, perhaps? "Can I help you with it?"

"I'm not complaining. Go ahead."

Another pause and then Marco got on his knees in front of him, coat partially covering his head, and he unzipped his pants zipper. The Virginian had been expecting a handjob, just as he had done. This was taking it one step further. "Holy shit."

With a quiet laugh and a quick glance up, the freckled male carefully pulled his pants and boxers down enough to get out his already leaking member. "It's okay, I'll be covert about this."

"Y-you think _I'll_ be able to keep that up?!"

Marco shushed him up in record time when he pressed his lips against the tip and sent Jean into an accumulation of whimpers, his feet sliding against the sticky theater floor for stabilization. Almost instantly, all words flew from his head, and logical thought crumbled at the sight before him. Gradually, with a short bob on each suckle, the musician watched his erection disappear into his mouth. A hot tongue pressed against the underside, one hand grasping the base and the other taking a hold against his balls. The jacket that covered his head now slipped over onto his waist as well, conveniently hiding whatever noise came out, even with the movie covering up the slurping that was coming from below.

"Marco—"

"Hmm?" Chocolate eyes, as innocent as a child's, glanced up at him through eyelashes. What must have been "what is it" came out as muffled nonsense that only sent vibrations to his cock and down his spine. His legs spread out and wrapped around Marco, pulling him forward despite the motion of his hips.

"Asshole."

Even his laughter gave similar results as he started to bob his head gently; whatever he was unable to fit inside his mouth, he ran circles into with his fingers. Each movement, regardless of what it was, sent a chill down Jean's spine. This kid was pulling him apart sound by sound, gesture by gesture. When he paid special attention to the head, jabbing the slit on top, it was a wonder he didn't reach his climax then, and was somehow able to hold back for a brief moment.

His hands tangled inside his hair, pulling on the dark locks beneath the coat. "M-M-Marco." It was the only warning he could give as, with one last hum, one last hollowing of his cheeks, one squeeze at the base, that he finally released. He chomped onto his lip to hold back any sounds he could make, but soon abandoned that to firmly keep his hand over his mouth. Marco stayed kneeling on the floor as he finished, and then pulled back with a rough swallow. He crinkled his nose at the taste, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and then he smiled up at his boyfriend with all the happiness and contentment one could ever hold.

"Did I do good?" He asked politely.

Jean simply sighed and patted his head, taking his coat off of his head and throwing it over his chair. "You were spectacular. Now get off the fucking floor."

The Californian laughed and got back into his seat. "Can I hold your hand?"

"You don't have to ask to do that."

"Well, I was just technically touching your balls with this hand, so—"

"Well I technically touched you through your pants, so." He reached over and tangled their hands together, and nodded curtly. "There. Now we're both gross."

"After what we just did, touching hands that touched dicks isn't a big deal."

Unfortunately, after that, it didn't take even a minute before they were jumping over the armrest to make out with one another. The movie hadn't improved at all, even with the somehow impressive makeup done on the low-budget dummies. The script was boring, and the actors, if possible, grew even duller, even with the semi-interesting storyline. Locking lips and tongue in an uncomfortable environment was something much more appealing than what was on-screen. The longest time they broke apart for, and not for air or a shift in positions, was at the end of the movie. Apparently, all but one of the kids had gotten into the family business and the “black sheep” of their family had been devoured. In the end, those alive were all forced to move, leaving their previous lives behind and starting anew. There was no doubt that there would be a sequel to this despite the quality.

As the lights turned on, the two couples sat for a brief moment, sitting back as the credits rolled. "That was a good movie," Jean commented with a nod.

Reiner didn't answer, but Bertolt looked at him with a look that could only mean one thing. Even if it was obvious that there hadn't been a lot of movie-watching–what with strands of hairs standing in several places and their lips plump from kissing–their more intimate escapades had not gone as unnoticed as they had thought.

x-x-x

“ _She come round my street, now._ ”

"Jean."

" _She come to my house and, knock upon my door_ —guys, sing with me."

"Jean—"

" _Climbing up my stairs, one, two, three—_ "

"Jean, listen to me."

" _C_ —oh come on, Bert!"

"Hey, you matched the song!"

"Reiner, you're not helping."

Because there was still time before sundown, and the movie had ended at an appropriate time, the double date would continue by going to the local diner for dinner. However, the only way they would be able to continue is if Reiner sat in the backseat with Marco. It was Bertolt's car, and, as he had made clear, he didn't want any damage done to the interior, including when it involved sexual situations.

"Please don't lecture me on this shit," Jean groaned. He already knew it was dirty and could have gotten him in trouble, though those facts had added to it all.

"I'm not going to lecture you," Bert frowned. "I just want to know if you really think that discreetly getting off in a movie theater with your boyfriend is the best way to do things."

"For the record, it was my idea."

"Yeah, I know. I heard you asking Marco." His eyes traveled to the rear view mirror to quickly gaze at the Californian. "And I can't believe you actually _agreed_ to go along with it!"

Marco looked up from his phone, having texted his roommates to let them know of his whereabouts, before he furrowed his eyebrows in puzzlement. "What do you mean by 'it'?"

"To jerk off in a movie theater, in _public_ —and on a double date, no less!"

"Technically, Marco sucked me off."

"Jean!" Marco and Bertolt stated, one in disbelief and the other in horror.

“You didn’t have to say it like _that_ ,” the Californian frowned.

“He said it like it was!” The tallest of the four protested.

"You know, I thought I heard slurping sounds next to me," Reiner mused quietly as the car pulled into a parking spot. The tallest of the four, turning the car off, rolled his eyes and got out. The blond followed after him, calling his name as he did

"Jean, by the way," the chef stopped his boyfriend before he could open his door. He leaned forward and pecked his cheek softly, and then smiled at him. "Even though it was illegal, I really did enjoy our movie date."

The musician turned to face him and snorted; "You're such a gross loser."

"Yeah but I'm _your_ gross loser. Besides, you started it."

"Uhh, I wasn't the one who went on a fucking dirty-ass floor to give my boyfriend a blowjob."

"Tch; whiny, whiny boyfriend. When will you learn to not be so whiny?"

x-x-x

"That was a delicious dinner."

"That was a good meal. It was very appetizing."

"I really like their bread. Soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside."

"What is it with Leos liking bread so much?"

"I mean, Sasha just likes food in general. I'm just a bread enthusiast."

"Is that why we call you Rye Bread?"

"Wow, Marco, congrats! Here, lemme get you a gold star."

"…wow. I never knew Bert and I had so much in common."

"Hmm?"

"We both have really sucky, short boyfriends."

"That's actually very true—" "I'm fucking taller than you, Marco! Are you serious right now?!"

The walk after dinner was something that had been unexpected, yet also quite enjoyable. Despite Jean's complaints earlier in the day and the frigid air that settled over the college town, it had been decided that a stroll past boutiques and local stores was a nice way to end the night.

" _Start spreading the news—_ "

"What are you doing?"

"I don't even think you should ask."

" _I'm leaving today; I want to be a part of it—New York, New York!_ "

"If you fall off that lamppost, I'm leaving you there."

" _I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps!_ "

"Those aren't even the right lyr—Jean, be careful!"

"If he falls into the fountain, I might just piss myself."

" _And find I'm king of the hill! Top of the heap!_ Someone come sing with me."

"Wait—"

" _These little town blues are melting away~ I'll make a brand new start of it_ —come on, Bert— _in old New York!_ "

"Hold on, no no no no, I don't dance—"

" _If I can_ —ba, ba— _make it there, I'll make it_ —ba, ba!— _anywhere; it's up to you—_ "

"Jean—"

" _—New York—_ "

"Slow down!"

" _New York!_ Ba, ba, da da da, da—Reiner, dance with me."

There was such little time in life to worry about petty things. Sitting with those three individuals, two who were good friends and one who was his boyfriend, in a booth where just a few months back he never would have imagined reaching this point in his relationship with Marco, he realized that he couldn't hold back any longer. Jean was a realistic person; he looked at situations for what they were in the open and made decisions that way. Why not let go of that arrogant, selfish air he had built around himself? Why not dance in the streets with friends, singing loud and proud for all to hear? What could he lose when he was content with who he was with and who he was?

" _I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps!_ —come on, you two, get up here!"

" _…and find that I'm number one!_ "

"Yeah, Marco!"

" _Top of the list!_ "

" _King of the hill!_ "

"Bertolt?"

" _…a number one!_ "

"Hell yes!"

" _These little town blues_  
_Are melting away_  
_I'm gonna make a brand new start of it_  
_In old New York_  
_And if I can make there_  
_I'm gonna make it anywhere_  
_It's up to you_  
_New York, New York!_ "

x-x-x

Although the night out had been a time to remember, as the four danced through fountains and sang and saved each other from slipping onto their faces, it couldn’t last long. In fact, the series of events would try all of them in their romantic relationships. One by one, they would forget what it feels like to love each other without anything to hold them back. Not everything can be hidden from the dark, and not everything can be a cookie cutter world. Mistakes are bound to occur.

Marco had decided to stay the night, as he would be arriving too late and didn't want to disturb the other Pikes. The two couples entered the Fiji house cheerfully and were met with a running television yet an empty room.

"Who died?" Reiner joked as he shrugged off his coat. "Hello? Anyone still breathing?"

There was some shuffling down the hall, Armin and Eren calling out, as Connie appeared in front of them, dazed and red-eyed. He wasn't usually one who revealed how he was feeling unless he chose to, but his emotions were on display for the four to witness. The stench of alcohol was eminent on him despite the distance between them. His cheeks were damp and still streaked with tear tracks, and his nose was stuffed as if he had a cold. One look at him, however, and Jean knew that this was no cold. This was heartbreak—and he knew who had given it to him.

"I told her," he whispered. Even his voice was broken, cracked and fragmented into pieces of sorrow and despair that couldn't be mimicked or staged. "She found out a-a-and she dumped me."

Marco and Reiner were already by his side when he stumbled and nearly fell over. Jean pulled out a chair for him from the kitchen island, while Bertolt fetched a glass of water. It was then that Eren and Armin, both obviously stressed and troubled, appeared from down the hall.

"He had an attack when Sasha was over," the shorter blond admitted sadly. "She asked what was wrong, and… Eren and I were trying to get a board game from the closet. We didn't know what had happened until we came back. And she was gone. And he was…"

"Not as drunk, but just as upset," Eren finished.

"'I can't believe you would do that'," Connie whispered. He reached for a stray bottle of beer, but it was removed and drained quickly as the tallest handed him the water instead. "She's so mad at me."

"When did it happen?" Bertolt asked.

"Around six-thirty or so," Eren replied. "Right after you guys said you were going to dinner."

"Sh-she even said I'm j-just as bad as he was…," the photographer sniffled, and wiped the underside of his nose on his jacket. "A-a-and all I ever did was love her for being herself!"

"Drink some water, Con," Reiner prompted softly. His hand tapped gently around the glass, as if it would gather his attention. "It'll help make you feel better."

At that moment, Marco glanced up at Jean with a sadness that could only come from a thoughtful friend grieving with another. The musician reached over and patted his hand before he pulled Connie in for a hug, tucking his head gently under his chin. In return, the Californian rested his head against them both, one hand running circles against the photographer’s back. The shortest turned his face away to hide into Jean's shirt, acting as a temporary muzzle for his sobs. The situation was out of their hands, and the best thing any of the six could do at this point was to be there for their devastated, broken brother by bond. The next few months would be the hardest they would face. And this wasn't a test they could research and study. This was life: no warnings, no precautions, nothing but the support of those who matter to pull one through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The movie JeanMarco-ReiBert had gone to see is fictional. It's just a movie I came up with because a horror cannibalism movie sounds interesting.
> 
> **The song Jean sang in the car with the other guys is "Gloria" by The Doors. I really do recommend this song, and anything else they've done. I also would like you to imagine Jean and Marco making out to this song and moving to the beat of it. :)
> 
> ***The song these four dorks sang in the fountain and around Trost is "New York, New York", specifically the version sung by Frank Sinatra.
> 
> ****The second-to-last "x-x-x" doesn't really have a specific order for who's talking. There are some that are a little obvious, of course, but it's up to your interpretation.


	25. Travel and Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Grab the Kleenex and the Puffs, because this is about to get bad.

The next month was a difficult one. Not only was Sasha angry with Connie, but her fury was also directed at Jean for what he had said to her at the photoshoot. Marco had tried to defend both males and try to get some sense to her, but he had soon ended up on her enemy list. For the rest of February and all of March, she ignored them as best she could. If their paths crossed, her eyes averted anywhere but their direction. Anyone who attempted to reason with her only ended up with a glare and a cold shoulder. She had none of their friends but Mikasa on her side, because everyone saw the situation and, despite Connie's mistake, understood his side better than her anger. Jean, along with a few select others, pitied Sasha for not having any support, but she didn't seem to want any from them at the same time. The only one who could be justified in having any for her was Mikasa. They had been through a lot together, ever since the Vancoven days, and had always sworn to be by her side when things got rough. And Mikasa kept true to her promise, even if her brother didn’t agree with her. It was the first time, in what seemed to be years, that she had gone against her brother.

Spring break was the last week of March going into April. Connie had been given the beach house owned by his family in Virginia Beach two years ago, even if he wasn’t on good terms with them, as a departing gift from the Springer household. It would be their getaway from school and anything involving trouble and negativity for a week.

"Twelve bathing suits?"

"Twelve bathing suits!"

"Sunblock?"

"Only every kind ever made because someone burns easily and needs five layers of each."

"Fuck you, Marco."

"Tsk-tsk. Rude, sunburnt boyfriend. No more kisses for you."

While Eren and Mikasa handled paperwork at the Greek Life offices, the others loaded the Volkswagen bus that they would be driving with the supplies they would need. They were able to seat all twelve inside, but their main concern came from if they could store their belongings without leftovers that would trap anyone inside.

"You know," Jean began, leaning against Fiji's open door, "I think it would be a ton of help if you two could get off your ass and help move things in the car."

Historia and Marco shared a glance. "We're already helping by putting things in here," the blonde frowned.

"We're big kids, we can figure it out."

"Jean, you're holding a door open," Armin reminded him as he walked out past him, and handed the two duffel he had carried bags to the duo. "More clothes; you can probably fit them in the trunk."

The freckled male smirked teasingly as he took one, and kept his eyes locked with his boyfriend. "Thank you, Armin~"

Jean stuck his tongue out in return; "Trunk's in the front."

"I know that!"

"Don't lie, I saw you going to the back."

"I wanted to walk around the car! Good exercise!"

It didn't take much longer before the car was packed and everything they needed was onboard. The first problem, however, started with the seating arrangements. Mikasa, who had returned irritated and without her brother by her side, had been forced to sit with her girlfriend in the very back alongside Reiner and Bertolt. Likewise, Sasha, one of the the last ones in the car, had been thrown into the seat in front of them, shoulder to shoulder with Jean and Connie. Her rage due to her predicament radiated off of her like sun rays. One glimpse of narrowed eyes and a fierce scowl was evidence enough that she did not appreciate where she had been put.

Eren finally appeared a short while later and got into the driver seat. Although it was technically Connie's house and Jean's car, he had volunteered as designated driver, something that no one, even Jean, wanted to argue with. Armin was their guide and sat in the passenger seat, since he could read a map better than most and knew the area just as well as Connie.

"Everyone ready to go?" He asked, starting the car and turning around to gaze at the others.

"Oh, wait, no, I have to get something," Sasha stated as she sat up, pulling out an earbud.

"What is it? I can go get it for you."

"I need some new friends that won't betray me and can understand my point of view, please and thanks."

"Yeah no, we're not gonna do this anymore. You guys can get over it now, thanks."

The brunette rolled her eyes as she fell back against the seat and turned up her music. Marco, from Jean's other side, patted the top of his hand and squeezed, as a way of comfort.

"I'm serious, though, are we good? I don't wanna drive back to pick up something important."

"Is that a hickey on your neck?" Ymir, from behind Armin, wondered, tapping the area on her own body that she was referring to.

Eren didn't answer her, and instead drove out of Greek Row, off campus, and then onto the highway.

x-x-x

The car ride was quiet for the most part, and the small conversations that were held buzzed among them. Armin, when he wasn't directing Eren, and Historia talked about the latest book they had finished; Connie explained to Marco the background they had with Virginia Beach; Reiner and Bertolt discussed what would be the best places to eat out when they arrived in Virginia Beach, with occasional suggestions from Annie and Ymir. Without traffic and a pitstop, it would take an hour to get there altogether. However, considering the fact that they had left later in the day and were traveling during spring break, it was extended to almost two hours. And Virginia Beach wasn’t exactly foreign to spring break. A pitstop to walk around and freshen up, especially with the tense atmosphere, was required.

"There's a little carnival-festival type of place over here," Armin noted. “Looks good enough to get what we need."

"Sounds good," Eren nodded, and got off on the exit. Following the throng of cars pouring into the entrances, and after a bit of maneuvering, the van was parked successfully. "Let’s try and get back on the road in like, half an hour or so. I wanna get to Con’s house before we graduate college.”

The festival grounds had an assortment of rides and stands situated around the facility. The center was dedicated to several food venues and hosted a number of selections that anyone could eat. For the most part, their group searched and shopped throughout the area during their brief time of freedom. Although they remained on the side without the rides and games, the boutiques and little shops that were set up were some compensation for what they were missing.

"This is like a hippie haven," Jean grumbled under his breath, examining a small box filled with what was labeled as cleansed stones.

“I think it’s neat,” the freckled male commented.

“Only old people say that, Marco.”

“It’s not just old people! Rude, rude boyfriend.” Marco lifted a sculpture of a red Chinese dragon, his eyes wide with amazement and awe. “Did you know that in eastern culture, Chinese dragons aren’t as aggressive as the west makes them out to be?”

“Really?” The musician glanced over at the small trinket; even though he wasn’t into the same things as his boyfriend, he couldn’t deny the fact that the dragon was interesting and incredible to look at. The details were precise and severe, accentuating the fact that it had been a project not to be taken lightly. His eyes wandered over the small indication of scales, the serpentine shape of the dragon, the eyes and the wide mouth. It was amusing to think that the dragons were benevolent in eastern culture: a creature representing emperors, controlling water, and yet preferring peace above violence. “It looks pretty cool."

The chef flipped the dragon over, searching for the price. His face blanched when he found and read it and he returned the statue to its place. He didn’t give the sculpture a second glance as he grimaced at his boyfriend with a nervous chuckle. "Never mind. I don’t want it anymore."

"Why?" Jean grabbed the dragon and looked at the cost. It was surprisingly pricey for something like that at a place like this. However, it wasn’t impossible to buy; both of them could afford it. "I can buy it for you."

"No, no, you don't have to—"

"I'm getting it for you."

"Jean, no, don't do that!"

“I’ve already made up my mind!”

“I can pay for it myself, and I don’t want to buy it!”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?!”

“Because you shouldn’t have to give your money up to buy something for me!”

“Isn’t that what _you_ would do?!”

Marco froze at the outburst, a small surprised gasp falling past a gaping mouth. They both knew the words were meant to be truthful, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. If they wanted to take it back, they wouldn’t be able to. It was out there, and not a single amount of effort could take it back. Before either one could say something, however, they were stopped by a slam and voices that were unexpectedly sharp and loud.

“Sasha, wait!”

“Connie, leave her alone for now!”

“Holy shit it’s hot…”

“ _Eren!_ ”

“Fuck you, Mikasa! I’m done!”

“Annie, hold on—Mikasa, relax! Panicking will solve nothing!”

“You think I can relax, Armin?! You think it’s so easy after what he just did?!”

“Annie, where are you going?!”

There was too much occurring at the same time for any real synopsis of the situation. Historia and Ymir seemed to be the only two who were the most calm about the chaos that was currently and slowly surrounding them. Both could do nothing but stand in their place, the shorter with a plate of funnel cake and the taller holding a plastic bag of what must have been an item they had bought. The blonde shrugged her shoulders when her eyes met Jean's; she was just as confused as he was.

"You wanna go get Connie and Sasha?" Ymir asked the duo. "Meet us back at the car?"

Jean nodded, and looked at Marco for the same response. “We’ll meet back with you at the car.”

Following the direction they had briefly seen the two take provided them with a short route in finding the runaways. The unfortunate part was that finding them was more worrisome than initially thought: Sasha and Connie were toe-to-toe, their noses bumping together from the close proximity. The brunette was the angrier of the two, judging by her clenched fists and furrowed brows. Whatever had happened during the earlier course of their conversation was enough to elicit a reaction such as that from her, but one of sadness from the shorter.

“Well, they haven’t killed each other yet,” the musician murmured. “That’s a relief.”

"Why can't you understand that I'm not interested?” Sasha yelled. “Why can't you respect that?!"

"Because we always end up doing something that turns everything around!” Connie shouted back at her. Each word he spoke was strained and falling apart at the seams. This was affecting him, whether he held that fact back or not. “We, we kiss when we're drunk! And sometimes, sometimes we make out, and we don’t know we do, but. But after the fact, we act like it never happened! It’s hard to pretend that shit like that never happened when I wanna do it, with you, sober!”

"Because it _shouldn't_ have happened, Connie! That should have already been obvious to you!"

"Guys, hey, we're leaving now," Marco broke into the conversation but was quickly denied a listening ear.

"I've done nothing but love you, Sasha! And all you've ever done is push me away! I've seen you go after other guys for years! I've seen you kiss them and love them as they hurt you—"

"You don't have the right to talk about that! That’s _my_ business, Connie! Not yours!"

"After what I've seen, and after what I did for you, I think I do! If it weren't for me, where would you be right now?! I saved you when you came home at one in the morning and couldn’t go home because your parents would have killed you! And when they kicked you out, I offered you a place to stay, because my mom loves you and she would have taken you in in a heartbeat! I’ve been your best friend for years, and now you’re turning away from me just because I have feelings for you that no one else will ever understand!”

"Con, Sash, c'mon—" Jean tried to persuade them to move.

“You don’t know what it’s like to suffer like I do,” the brunette whispered through clenched teeth. “You don’t know what it’s like to not be able to say no when he offers you a blunt, or a cigarette, or a piece of bamboo! You dont know what it’s like to be shunned for not wanting to put a needle in your arm! You don’t know what it’s like when he tells you it’s okay, ‘you won’t get hurt’, ‘everyone does it’, ‘it’s a rite of passage’! You don’t know what it’s like to see the person you love abuse that love, and watch them yell and scream at you because they drank too much and don’t know who’s who anymore!”

“Yeah. Okay. I don’t know what it’s like to see those things happen, because they didn’t to happen to me. But I know what it’s like to love someone so much, and to see them abuse that love, one way or another. I see it every day I look at you and _know_ that you don’t return that love.”

“Is that all you care about? You can’t force me to fall in love with you, Connie!”

“I know I can’t! That’s not what I want to do! I never meant to make you uncomfortable o-or upset, or anything. And I don’t care anymore if we’re dating, because you’re letting our friendship fall apart! And that’s the last thing I wanted to happen, trust me!”

“So now it’s _my_ fault we’re not friends anymore?!”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Guys, please! Not so loud,” Marco pleaded.

Sasha snarled, and her fists raised up in frustration only to be thrown back down. “Grow the fuck up and learn how to take responsibility, Connie Springer! You’re not always right!”

“I know I’m not; I’ve fucked up a thousand and one times in my life, and I’ll continue to fuck up until I die! But at least I can be thankful for people who have been with me and supported me when no one else did—especially if those people are the only reason why I’m not six feet under today! If it weren’t for me, that’s where you would be! Dead!”

It wasn't clear who threw the first punch; in a few seconds, it mattered little as to who had started. Hands from both sides made contact to skin and hair and clothes. It served as a signal for Marco to drag Sasha in one direction and Jean to carry Connie in the opposite way. The bald male was shocked, at first, to feel and see his friend beside him, but he relaxed and allowed himself to be lifted and held like a toddler against the musician's chest, legs dangling on either side of Jean’s sides. The Californian held Sasha as far away from them as he could despite her yelling, even though they were heading in the same destination.

Jean had made one temporary stop at one of the boutiques before he continued on his way. Luckily, only Connie was aware of what he had done.

By the time they reached the van, whatever other problems had been present had apparently been settled. Mikasa was in the very back with an unconscious Eren; Annie sat in the driver’s seat, Reiner and Bertolt talking to her and Armin from the row behind them. Historia and Ymir stood outside the open door; the taller female nodded at them.

“Sit wherever you want,” she told them. “We’re not worried about it right now.”

“I’ll go in the back with Sasha,” Marco stated quietly. At this point, she had quieted down and simply held the freckled male’s hand, her head bowed as she walked beside him apathetically. Without any question, she got into the car and seated herself beside Mikasa, followed by the Californian.

“I’m guessing we’re sitting with you, then,” Jean sighed. The couple outside the car nodded, and the two-toned-haired male set his friend down and got into the last available row. Connie sat beside him, just as quiet as Sasha had been.

Once the door closed and it was confirmed that everyone was in, Annie started to drive without another word, Armin directing her on how to get out and where to reach the interstate once again. The only noise came from the car, as well as the festival that was still occurring despite the drama that had taken place. At some point, they had ran into traffic and Jean had fallen asleep, unable to keep himself awake through it. He wasn’t sure what time it was, or how long they had been trapped in traffic, but he was more interested in the conversation that was taking place between Armin and Annie.

“—you ever talk to her about it? I mean, sitting down with her one-on-one?”

“Of course I have. It went well for a while, remember? We actually went out on dates and hung out together like a normal couple. But as soon as Eren started staying out late with Levi, it all went to shit.”

“You don’t blame him for that, do you?”

Annie paused for a moment, and then let out a sigh. “…no. Even if I wanted to, I can’t blame him for his sister’s or my problems. Plus, he’s on my side; you’ve heard what he says to her. ‘Spend time with Annie, she’s your girlfriend.’ I’m not going to turn against him.”

“There aren’t any sides in this, Annie.”

“With Mikasa, you’re either with her, or you’re against her, most of the time because you go against Eren. Because I want her to spend more time with me and less with Eren, I’m against her, even if I’m her girlfriend.”

“…I wish that things weren’t like that between you two. We have enough issues as it is.”

“Yeah…everyone seems to be having problems lately. Reiner and Bert; Sasha and Connie; even Jean and Marco.”

“That last one is a surprise to me. They seem so happy with one another, and they’ve known each other for years. You would think that they work things out easily.”

“They’re complete opposites. It’s not a surprise to me that there’s something going on.”

“If you look at it that way, yeah…”

“The point is: I’m done with Mikasa. I’ll have to see her, of course, but…next year, if things don’t work out, I’m leaving Alpha Omicron Pi. I don’t want to get hurt by her anymore.”

“Annie…”

“I’m not leaving forever; you’ll still see me. Someone needs to babysit the two dorks behind us. I just don’t want anything to do with her. I’m her girlfriend; he’s not. I shouldn’t be her number two.”

“…I understand that. Eren isn’t just her brother; that’s her saving grace. He helped her when she needed it. It’s why she wears his scarf all the time. But Eren knew the difference between his sibling and his best friend… Mikasa never really understood that.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It’s alright; I tried to not let it get to me. I’m sorry you have to go through it too.”

“Mm…thanks, Armin.”

Jean stopped listening once their conversation dropped into casual small talk. As he looked around the van, he noticed that there was more trouble with the romantic relationships than anyone was willing to let on. Reiner was antsy, and his leg never stopped bouncing up and down; Bert, usually attentive and aware, was withdrawn, as if he was caving into a shell to hide. Sasha and Connie were obvious as to what they were struggling with. Eren was a completely different story that he didn’t even have full coverage on. As far as he knew, Ymir and Historia seemed to be the only couple that weren’t suffering from something. The troubled pairs were the red Chinese dragon Marco had seen at the boutique: at first compassionate, but then molded into hostility despite its initial state.

Even though it was against his better judgement, his eyes traveled over his shoulder to gaze back at Marco; his hand was playing absentmindedly with Sasha’s hair, who must have fallen asleep to the motion. His eyebrows were scrunched together in an expression that Jean could recognize as him being deep in thought. The gears in his head must have been turning rapidly, going over scenario after scenario, to the point of overthinking even the smallest of details. Though he could only guess what he was thinking about, he could predict that it wasn’t any good whatsoever.

Perhaps things really weren’t as they seemed to be. How much more downhill could they go before they fell all the way to rock bottom?


	26. Shocks and Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Reiner Braun. Sorry this chapter comes out on your birthday. But you're a POS in the manga so it's all good. 
> 
> This chapter is really sad. Like I cried writing the ending, and that doesn't usually happen. Hope you don't cry as much?
> 
> Also, note: do not listen to "Your Song" by Elton John when reading the first half of this. It's really bad.

The house in Virginia Beach owned by the Springers was given to Connie as a graduation present. It was one of two things, aside from his camera, that he actually enjoyed taking from his parents. Many of his summers had been spent in that house, and it was still used as that purpose. The house itself was seated on a hill right next to the beach and overlooked the water. The outside was a light yellow tint with white shutters on either side of the windows. The porch snaked around the entire house, and the second floor hosted a balcony in two rooms, both facing two different views of the ocean. Inside, the rooms were large and decorated to serve a peaceful atmosphere. Some rooms were shaped as circles, specifically on the first floor to give a better view of the beach. The third floor was a single room that acted as an observatory and had often been the location spot for Connie’s photographs. Seeing the house as they pulled up into the garage that had been added on a few years back, it was a sigh of relief in contrast to the drama between them.

It took everyone's effort and some time management for their belongings to be at least in the foyer of the house. Dinner was a free-for-all that day, and could happen whenever they were hungry. Jean made sure to keep the "souvenir" he had bought close by, and where prying, curious eyes couldn't retrieve it. Not until it was the right time.

Though he didn't have to wait long for the perfect moment to come up. Rooms were being sorted, and it was finally the two of them, just Jean and Marco. They had managed to nab one of the two rooms with a balcony as a pleasant accident and were quietly walking through the room before the musician, shutting the door behind him, pulled out the black box from his belongings. "Hey, Mar?"

"Yeah?" The freckled male, previously standing outside on the balcony, walked back inside.

Letting out a sigh first, the shorter extended the present he had gotten. "So, when we were going back to the car, I got this for you—"

He was barely finished with his sentence before Marco was groaning, his head back and his eyes shut. "Jean, _please_ , I don't want it."

"Well, I got it for you, and I don't want it as much as you do, so…you should probably take it."

"I'm not taking it."

"Marco—"

"I thought we went over this, Jean! We had to unite and bring back Sasha and Connie and everything was fine!"

"Is that what you were thinking about in the car ride here? How everything's fine?"

Marco, confused and slightly irritated by that, sighed and shook his head. "Jean, I'm not going to fight you about this. I'm not accepting it."

"Well I already bought it for you, so just take it!"

"I don't want it!"

"You should still take it!"

" _Jean_. Don't."

"Marco, take it."

Marco took the box, turned it over in his hands a few times, and dropped it on the bed before crossing his arms and looking back up at the shorter. "I'm not accepting it. It's nice that you did that, but I can’t take this from you.”

"Marco, it was fifty bucks. I'm not worried about it."

"Which means that _I_ don't have to be?!"

"I never said that—"

"You know, just because you don't have a problem spending that amount on a trinket doesn't mean that I do. I actually had to fight and work to get money in our house, or else we didn't eat. No everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth, you know."

Jean wasn’t sure where that had come from. He didn’t even know if Marco was aware of what he said. It was common knowledge amongst them, including Ymir and Marco, that any reference to their families or the wealth that they carried behind their names was to never be mentioned. Their family was no one but one another, their parents failing to please them and causing a drop in any type of relation to them. And he knew the Californian was aware of that, and he remembered it briefly coming up via Connie and Sasha, but the damage was already done.

It was evident on Marco’s face that what he had said had not meant to be said, and that he regretted it immediately. Jean refused to recognize it; it was unimportant, unnecessary information. If that's how he wanted to act, that's what he would give him.

“You’re so _quick_ to mention how I have _always_ been more able than you—which is true, I always have been—and I could talk about how you’ve _never_ been able to afford even a flip phone—which, look at that, is also true—but I don’t want to hurt you _that_ bad,” he sneered. “I don’t want to point out that you practically lived at the poverty level and how the only way for you to pay the rent was if you cooked for the landlord and her family, which wasn’t that bad, sure, but it took time away from school and you might have graduated higher if you hadn’t been working. But no, I’m not gonna mention that. I’m not like _you_. I don’t go that far. But you seem so fucking _focused_ on the differences that we’ve had growing up, I’m starting to think you’re either: A, really fucking jealous; or B, wanting me to throw you a pity party. Or maybe you want both. Is that it?!”

“N-no,” Marco shook his head, dazed. “I’m not—”

“You sure? Because it really does seem like it!”

“Jean, I swear I’m not trying to do any of that—”

“And you know what, you really don’t have to give an explanation. I tried to do something nice for you, because I saw how much you wanted that thing, even if you didn’t say it. And I don’t need your ungrateful ass telling me that you don’t want it all because I bought it with my own money. Not sure if you know this or not, but that’s how things work; you _use_ money that you earn from _work_ as a way to get around in life.”

“I—”

“But I guess that doesn’t mean anything when I do _one nice thing_ for you, huh? Are you supposed to be the only nice one? Is that it?! Everyone else has to wait to do a good deed, because Marco's doing them all! Marco's the nicest guy, with the nicest smile and the nicest attitude—I get you now. You'd do anything to be a good person, and no one else is allowed to be one. So no one does any good. But Marco does. Marco does all of it."

"Jean—"

"Did I hit the hammer right on the nail? Huh? Did I get it right? Or am I wrong? Am I telling the truth?! Am I not supposed to be good to my boyfriend and avoid giving him a reason to leave me?!”

“If you shut up and let me talk, maybe you’d find out!” Marco snapped. Fists clenched at his sides, his usually calm exterior was replaced with a fury that Jean hadn’t noticed until now. “It was nice what you did, yes. But I already said that I didn’t want it. What am I gonna do with it? It’s just a decoration.”

“You said you wanted it—before you saw the price.”

“Yeah, and then I saw it wasn’t worth it.”

“But you still wanted it.”

“What does it matter?!”

“It matters because if it makes you happy, I want it to happen! I want to see you smile and laugh and I wanna make stupid jokes with you! If there’s something or someway that I can make you happy, I want it. ‘If you want the moon, just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down’. Remember? Everything I do matters because it gives me a chance to see you smile. And that’s the best thing I could ever want.”

“…why?” The tears had started to fall at that point, tumbling down spotted cheeks and past quivering lips. Even when he sniffled and bit down on his lower lip, there was nothing to be done to stop his silent crying. "Why do you care so much?”

Jean reached up to wipe away a track, could have if he tried, but instead he let his palm rest against his cheek. "If I'm going to be doing anything with my life, I'd rather it be with you than on my own. You've taught me a lot of things since we first met, but the most important thing I learned is that you can look at anything and see good just by wishing for it. If you wish for bad, that's all you're gonna see. But wishing for good…that'll get you somewhere. I can at least say I wished to meet you, and that worked out pretty damn well. But I wish for you to be happy, always…but…it looks like I failed at doing that, huh…"

The dark-haired male had focused his eyes downward, but they soon flicked up to gawk at him. "What do you mean?"

"I got the dragon with good intentions. But instead, I got what I had never wished for."

"That's not your… Jean, I… I-I…"

"It's fine. Really. You don't have to finish."

Marco sighed, shutting his eyes and resting against the hand cupping his cheek before opening them once more. “I don’t know what I want anymore…”

Jean hesitated from saying anything further, in fear of hurting him more than he already had. But then again, what else was there for him to do? “Do you wanna talk about it?”

A pause, an uneasy silence that churned his stomach while he waited for an answer. “I don’t know if I should be grateful you did that for me, or…or angry that you didn’t listen.”

“Well…” He stopped, making sure to choose his words carefully before he said the wrong thing. “I can’t choose for you. And I can’t make you do what I would want. But…I can’t hold you back. Whatever you go with, if it’s what you want, I’m for it.”

The taller frowned and once again bowed his head low before he sat down. His sniffling didn't cease, and his shoulders started to shake from his crying, sending tremors through the rest of his body. "I want to be alone. Please."

"…I can give you that, at least." Jean stepped closer and pecked the top of his head softly, lips and nose brushed against soft hair that smelled of coconuts and vanilla, of a home littered with candles and warmth and serenity and joy, a home he held onto in hopes of mending their relationship. "I l…" The word rested on his tongue, barely even out before he was taking it back. He refused to say a phrase with so much meaning when they were too broken to even look at one another. "I'll come back to you."

When Jean left the room, it was with no protest and in absolute silence. Anyone else could have guessed that he was in a room by himself. He wasn't sure how he looked, but at that moment, he was sure he was as close as one could get to a breakup–though was it a breakup? Those words had never been uttered by either of them in their conversation. Yes, regrets were made, but nothing to that extreme of a level. It was small, minuscule even, but it was hope, and it reassured him that they could find a way to fix things.

Looking around the kitchen, he could see a similar problem had occurred. Aside from the ever-obvious sulk Connie had submerged himself in since they had left the festival, Reiner, Annie, and Armin sat at the round dining table, bowls of food in hand and an outer personification of exhaustion. The latter two blondes looked up at him as he entered and made his way to the bowl of mac and cheese on the counter, but the tallest of the five was completely silent and, judging by his facade of despair, completely shattered by what must have finally taken place between him and Bertolt.

"You too, huh?" The musician broke the silence. Reiner nodded slowly, hazel eyes distant and his lips in an unusual, heavy frown. There was no reason for an explanation; he and his relationship with Bertolt were shattered.

"Welcome to the club of failures," Connie murmured with a sulking expression. “Where no one can get what they want and everyone’s fucking against them.”

“I still don’t know why we came here,” Annie remarked.

“Someone thought it would be a good thing for us.”

Reiner shot him a glare at that past his glass. “Sorry I can’t look into the future and see when everything goes to shit.”

The female scoffed; “Shit’s been happening for a while now. It’s gotten worse just recently.”

“Can you stop arguing about it and just shut up?” Jean requested, his voice low and heavy, as he sat down beside Connie, completing the semi-circle seating arranged by the five.

“What’s up your ass?” The tallest grumbled.

“What’s _not_ up his ass?” Connie corrected.

“Definitely not Marco.”

“And Bertolt’s not up yours, so we’re even,” the musician snapped. “Please, remind me more of my failures as a boyfriend, so I can remind you more of your mistakes, asshats."

The duo quieted at that, both looking down and away from Jean’s line of sight. For a long while, the sound of utensils clinking against bowls was the only thing heard. It filled the air with a strange quiet that felt more artificial than natural. For a brief moment, it almost sounded like there was no one in the house. No feet moved upstairs or downstairs; no one talked with those beside or around them; even the world outside them seemed to be staying in place. It was an eerie stillness that had to be broken soon, or else they might find themselves trapped in a mute, eternal pit with no escape for the rest of the week.

Eventually, there was some navigation and moving around, mostly for room arrangements and where everyone would sleep. Their food supply, thanks to Annie and Armin, was neatly and precisely organized before anything spoiled. Bags were unpacked, brought upstairs, downstairs, through hallways and with a dumbbell of reluctance following their every footstep. But still, even with the new additions, no one shared any words. The only couple staying in a room together was Ymir and Historia. Armin and Eren, although not dating, had decided to share as well. Everyone else’s plans had been obstructed or destroyed from the start. Jean was almost convinced, as the day came to a close and the sun reflected onto the ever-rising ocean, that no words would be exchanged for the rest of the night until a solid knock came from the front door, disturbing the silence that had laid over them like a duvet.

Connie shared a look at Jean and Reiner, the only other two in the room with him, before he went to go and answer it. The whole house seemed to be at attention, ready to hear who had paid them a visit.

For a moment, the bald male seemed to be in a state of shock. He hadn’t moved or blinked from his place in front of the open doorway, hand still on the doorknob. His voice was hoarse and quiet when he spoke, and barely raised above a whisper.

“Mom…?”

Both Jean and Reiner instantly shot up from their spots to stand, though not directly, behind Connie. A woman, short and thinner than it was healthy, with bright hazel eyes and a relaxed smile that had clearly been inherited to her son, stood on the patio. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and a light pink turban on her head; no suitcase or bag was around. It was her and nothing else.

“Hello, Connie,” she spoke up. Her voice was wispy, as if made of glass, and it was a struggle to hear her properly. “May I come in?”

Rebecca Springer had been part of one of the most disappointing factors of Connie’s high school career. Where his homophobic father accused him of being gay and demanded he come out, Rebecca denied him the support he needed. If he was yelled at for hanging out with the “wrong people”, his mother stayed quiet and didn’t say a word. Connie knew that she supported him for being himself and for hanging out with the right people despite their sexual preference, as seen by her attempts to interact with them when her husband wasn't around. All Connie had wished for was her confirmation that she loved him no matter who he hung out with, and no matter his sexual preference. And her inability to stop his father only made matters worse. Part of it was blamed on the cancer that had started to eat at her during his sophomore year of high school, but the rest was because her husband didn’t listen to anyone that wasn’t the same as he was. It was why Connie eventually spent more time at the Kirschtein’s more than his own home: a family that was not related to him gave him more love and support than his own parents did.

Connie and Reiner had to escort Rebecca into the house, as she moved slowly and with little to no energy. By the time she had sat down and received a glass of water from Jean, the other residents of the house had joined them in the living room, keeping a reasonable distance from those they were at odds with and to give breathing room to their visitor.

“So you’re…here,” the photographer sighed, sitting by his mother. Side by side, aside from her illness, the resemblances in them was almost unreal. Their round faces, the shape of their hazel eyes, the expressions that flickered on their faces but weren't vocally announced. It was clear she was in pain, though she appeared to be at peace. Her son was distressed, worried, but he remained calm on the outside.

“I’m here,” she nodded slowly. The light smile that had been on her face since her son had opened the door still hadn’t disappeared.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, until you find that out, I would like to go first, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Rebecca hummed as the tips of her smile raised slightly, before settling back into that same relaxed state. She patted the top of his hand as her eyes searched the room, at ten familiar faces and at two unknown ones. “I can't believe you’re all in college now…and you’ve met two more people, I see.”

Ymir and Marco, ironically standing next to each other, shared a glance before the female nodded and extended her hand for a shake. “I’m Ymir…Historia’s girlfriend.”

“Historia?”

“You knew me as Krista,” the blonde in question stated, raising a hand up with a weak smile.

“…Krista.” If Mrs. Springer was affected by the relationship title, she made no reaction to it. She grinned at the tiny girl, eyes sparkling despite the dullness at the center. “How could I forget? You were the sweetest thing. Congrats on your relationship.” She focused back on the other two, gesturing to both freckled persons. “Are you two related in anyway?”

“Oh, no, we’re not related—” Ymir began, trailing off as she looked back at the taller, and then flicked her eyes quickly to Jean. As aloof as she could be, there was a rare expression and a glint in her eyes that Jean registered as pity.

“I’m Marco, I’m a…friend,” the Californian replied. He seemed almost nervous, the blue blanket around his shoulders tight around his frame. If Jean looked close enough, he could see his hazelnut eyes were brimmed with red.

“Just a friend?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you remember that penpal Jean used to write to?” Connie asked in a low voice, almost gentle.

“Ohh—yes, a little bit,” Rebecca nodded. “From California?”

“Yeah, that’s him. We met a few months ago.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” She gazed up at Marco cheerfully. “How nice you could reunite with him!”

The chef didn’t say anything; he only bobbed his head once in confirmation, his lips pulled into a thin line. He must have felt Jean eyeing him, for their eyes met briefly before returning to Mrs. Springer.

Her hazel eyes, filled with warmth and serenity, gazed out the window at the setting sun, reflecting the mixture of colors the sky was evolving into. Silence had once again entered the room, but it was out of anticipation for what she was going to say, and an explanation for her presence. “I have two very important things I want to tell you. One pertains more to Connie than anything, but…I figured you’d all find out eventually.” Another pause, another slow inhale and an even more gradual exhale. “The cancer I’ve been battling for years now has become…even more deadly than the doctors originally thought. I’ve had it since you were all sophomores, and it disappeared your senior years, but it’s returned and, unfortunately, it’s already done so much that it’s impossible to stop. They estimated that it’ll only be a few more months before I will die.”

Melancholy slipped over Connie’s features, eyes filling with tears before being blinked away. "So you came here instead of being at home?"

"I've failed as a parent, Connie. I didn't support you when you needed it—" Her eyes drifted upwards momentarily at the others present in the room, the smile gone from her face now. "—when you all needed it. Perhaps if I had stood up to your father, things could have been better for you. Perhaps I…could have been one more parent you could go to for advice. And it’s my own fault for failing to do that.”

“Mom…”

Rebecca looked back at her son, stared straight at mirror images of honey. “I’m so sorry I was never there for you. I’m sorry for all the times I stood by and watched as your father kicked out your friends, and, eventually, you. But I thank you for not sticking to him, and not letting our foolishness steer you away from what you really want.” Her eyes moved away then to look at those around her, who had stayed silent throughout the entire time she had been there. “And I’m sorry to all of you for failing to support you. I’m sorry that I know you for your years up until high school. And I’m sorry that’s all I will ever know of you.” When she turned back to look at Connie, her eyes were brimming with tears, just as his were, and her voice cracked. Her shaky, weak hand reached up to caress his cheek gently; Connie pressed against it desperately, gulping back tears even though they had already started to fall. “I know you’ll take care of him for me like I never could, because you’ve been there when no one else was. I don’t even need to ask.”

“We’ll be with him. Always.” The voice belonged to no other but Sasha, sitting directly across from Connie and just as heartbroken. When her eyes met his, and she smiled at him, it was nothing short of a call to come back, to end their dispute, though this was neither the time nor the place.

Mrs. Springer let out a sigh at that, her grin returning at the statement before she searched the face of each student there. She reached all of them as she spoke, and she addressed them as a whole. “But even then, I don’t want you to lose sight of what’s really important. You’ve had each other for years now, some going back to your diaper days. My wish is that all of you stay true to who you know you are, and you never lose sight of each other.”

A nod was received from all twelve who were present, firm and quiet yet sending an aura of confidence among them. Even if they couldn’t say it themselves, and had to have someone else speak it for them, they were sure that the problems they were faced with now would be resolved, preferably before they returned home.

Rebecca Springer never woke up when she went to sleep that night. She was buried, as Connie said she had always wished, on a large hill that overlooked the beach, a private spot of land specially reserved for her.


	27. Solemnity and Beaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of right now, I am on my way to bring a college student and an adult that does actual adult things. So enjoy this chapter while I drive for five hours. 
> 
> Also, sorry for the last chapter. It was sad and heartbreaking and no one got a break. But this is a pretty good one. Probably rushed but. It'll be explained later.
> 
> You are extravagant.

There was nothing much to the funeral except for a walk to the hill and a moment of silence. There was no family crowd to watch the casket be lowered into the ground, no crying children or any sort of distractions from the quiet of it all. The twelve had found something black and worn it out of respect. It was a ten-minute walk to the hill, especially once there was flat land to walk on. Connie had been able to put on a mask that hid the water from his eyes until after his mother's burial. However, now that it was over, the coverup was starting to crack, and the truth of how he felt was revealed. It was no secret that he was upset, as he hadn't seen his mother since he started college, and had had the first and last heart-to-heart conversation last night, before he went to bed. Seeing that his mother had passed on that morning had not been something he was expecting.

"If you guys wanna go back to the house, you can," he whispered. "I'm gonna stay here for a while longer."

At first, no one moved from their spot. They stayed in a semi-circle around the unmarked grave before, one by one, their numbers started to dwindle. Each of them said something that was, in some way, related to giving their condolences. Eventually, the only ones left were Connie, Sasha, and Jean, a trio who had seen both ugly and pretty sides to one another and yet still remained together when the smoke cleared from the battle.

"You know, I never thought that this would be how my mom would die," the short male stated in a small voice. "Y'know? I wanted to at least have grandkids first s-so…so they could m-meet her." Connie shut his eyes before he choked out; "I don't want to be like them. I don’t want to hate everyone like he did. I can't—" He stopped, halted by the lump in his throat. “I can’t do that.”

"Connie–" The tallest of the three started, but was cut off.

"That's how it turns out, isn't it? We all start off different from our parents, and we take a vow to never be like them, but it always happens. We're gonna end up becoming just like them, and there's no avoiding it!"

"You can't turn out to be like them," Sasha assured him in a soft voice. "You're already not like them by being with us."

"But what if I change? What if I turn into them?! I want to be there for my kids! I, I want to love them and be a good dad and just take care of them properly! I…I don’t want my kids to hate me!" He was partially muffled as Sasha held him close to her chest. The shorter only pulled her closer, his hands curling into her sweater as small muffled sobs leaked out from him.

"No one changes when you go through our shit," Jean remarked, and then scoffed lightly with a shake of his head. "You can't even hold a grudge, Connie."

"Exactly," the brunette nodded. "And you get along with everyone as long as they're nice to you. You're like feng shui, but as a person."

Connie looked up at her at the last comment, and a smile broke out past his wet cheeks. "I don't know what that means, but it sounds cool."

Sasha laughed quietly, clearing the tracks away with a wipe of her sleeve. "I don't either. But that's why I picked it."

The shorter sniffled, managing another watery smile. "I think you're cool, too."

"Mm, yeah, sometimes. Not as cool as you, though."

"I think I'm gonna leave and give you two some space," Jean announced as he turned and started to walk down the hill.

"Wait, Jean—" Sasha grabbed onto his sleeve and pulled him back, stopping him from walking any further.

"I…I wanna apologize for being rude."

"Don’t worry about it. I…I'm sorry too. For not telling you what was going on."

"I get it; it wasn't really your place to tell me. I didn't get that then, I guess."

"Hey." Jean gently tapped the top of her head to gather her attention. "Don't worry yourself to death over this. I'm fine, you're fine, Connie's fine. We're still here for you."

The brunette grinned and pulled him in for a tight hug. He returned it, if with a little less zest than the shorter. "Thanks, Jean. I hope you and Marco make up soon."

 _Me too Sasha_ , he thought to himself. _You have no idea…_

"Though making out is good too."

"Shut up and go take care of Connie."

x-x-x

Jean wasn't sure how he ended up on a beach, beer in hand, making a toast to fixing his relationship. He remembered Annie coming downstairs to the basement while he was changing, inviting him to a walk out on the beach for some venting and a few beers. Only the two of them, Reiner, Armin, and possibly Connie would be joining them, no one else. Everyone else had plans to do things, and it was a sure-fire method to ensure that they got out of the house and did something productive. After they made their toast and had a few sips, the ranting began.

"Sasha and I are okay now," Connie spoke first, toying with a few shells lying nearby. "We talked about fixing things and how we still wanna be friends, but maybe more than that, and…she's gonna figure some things out first."

"That's a start," Reiner pointed out.

"Yeah. She asked if I still loved her."

"And?"

"I said I never stopped."

"Ah."

"You think she likes you back?" Jean wondered.

Connie let out a long sigh, shoulders heavy before he shrugged; "Not really sure. She could. I don't wanna get my hopes up. Women are difficult, man."

"Understatement of the century," Annie grumbled. Her bottle of beer clinked together with Connie's.

"I'm a living Pride Day float, so. I wouldn't know."

"Same."

"I'm just not interested."

"I don't get it, though," the bald male frowned. "Everything went wrong so fast."

"Because things were over before they began," she replied. "We knew something was up way before they did."

"True…still thought it would last longer than this."

Silence, a few swigs of beer.

"Do you ever wonder what it'd be like if we didn't have them?" Reiner wondered.

"Sometimes, yeah."

"Eh."

"I think I'd still be sexually confused."

"Mm." The tallest nodded, taking another sip of his drink before speaking. "I honestly think my life would be shit."

"Why, because you'd only be with Annie as a kid?"

"Fuck you, Jean."

"I've been best friends with Bertolt since we could walk," Reiner continued, unfazed by the others' comments. "He's been with me for a really fucking long time. We've argued before, but…as a couple? This is the first time. And it's mostly my fault."

"You mean, like, you both did something wrong?"

"Basically, yeah." He glanced over at Jean. "Remember when we went to the movies, and I told you about me and Bert?"

The musician frowned, already predicting what he was going to say; "Was that it?"

The blond gave a sigh before he nodded. "Yep. I'm a loud mouth who didn't see how he was doing, if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Bert doesn't wanna burden anyone, so he doesn't mention issues unless someone comes to him about it first. And he didn't tell me he was uncomfortable or nervous or anything like that, and I never asked about it, so…"

"That's never good," Armin stated. 

"Bummer," Connie frowned.

"I know." He downed the rest of the beer with a cringe. "He probably thinks I don't care…"

“Well, yeah. That’s sorta expected, I guess.”

“No, but I acted like it was nothing. I mean he did too, but…I did it first. And I could see that it hurt him, but…fight fire with fire, I guess.”

“Still better than what I got,” Jean pointed out.

“Trying to one-up me, Kirschtein?”

“Not sure. I haven’t decided yet.” Silence once again, save for the clink of glass bottles as they were switched for freshly open ones. “I bought a little trinket for Marco at the festival, but he…he didn’t take it. And he said things and went places he shouldn’t have gone to, and I said things and went places I shouldn’t have gone to. But we still… I…" When he couldn't finish, he shut his eyes and leaned his head back. A soft breeze brushed by, spreading the scent of the water and relaxing his nerves.

"Looks like we all got mixed up in our own shit," Annie mused, and nudged Armin with her shoulder. "Except for Coconut Head here."

Armin chuckled lightly at that, though the sound was strained; "To some extent. Eren and Mikasa aren't exactly private when they’re angry with each other."

"What do you mean?" Reiner asked.

"They just like to throw me in the middle of their arguments sometimes. And it’s mostly when it’s the three of us."

"Sounds ugly," Jean remarked.

"They apologize afterwards, so it's not like they don't know what they're doing. Plus they just started it back up recently, which is something to be thankful for."

"That's good."

"Yeah—but we're not here to learn about me. We're here to help you four get better at whatever it is you're struggling with."

"Life."

"Everything."

"How not to fuck up."

"Not what I was looking for, but okay."

"Come on, Doctor Arlert," Reiner nudged him gently with his elbow. "You should already know how to do this."

"Alright, alright—how about this: What do you like about your significant other? Something, anything, that makes you happy that comes from them."

"Everything," Connie nodded confidently.

"Nothing specific?"

"… _her_ everything. Did that help?"

"…sure."

"Mikasa smells like lavender," Annie remarked, a small tint of red on her cheeks. "I don't know if she uses anything, but she always smells like it."

"Bert has that gentle giant persona going on," Reiner stated, a warm, almost dreamy smile appearing on his face. "I mean, he's six-foot-four and can probably handle his own in a fight. Yet he's so…gentle. And kind. And considerate."

Jean knew what to say; he hadn't been a stranger to the corny chatter on what he loved about his boyfriend. It was something he could see every day, something that made a difference every time he was present to witness it. One small glimpse of it was enough to satisfy him. In fact, he wondered how he had be able to go for so long without seeing it. "His smile is…beautiful," he whispered. "That's so fucking cliche, and I don't give a damn. Seeing it makes me feel…safe. Secure."

"Hmm," Armin drummed his fingers along the top of his kneecap. "Okay. What else?"

"Her everything."

"Her eyes, I guess."

“The nose.”

"His…" The musician paused, partially out of alarm but also because he wasn't sure what to say. There was so much to list, so much to say; his smile had been easy to list, but what of everything else? What of his eyes, or his laugh, or the freckles that were scattered all over his body, like constellations on display in the sky? How could he pinpoint it? "I can't decide. He's so…perfect for me. He's gorgeous and, and he has his flaws, yeah, but he's _perfect_ … I don't think I could ever be with someone else."

"Then everything will get better for you guys," Connie said. "Right?"

"I guess so…I don't know."

There was a brief pause of silence before the shortest male of the five started to hum and sway back and forth, starting off slow with a smile on his face. Jean recognized the song, and caught the irony of it all, but Connie was persistent, and would most likely not stop until the others were mimicking him. Reiner joined in soon after, and Armin was quick to do the same. At first, Jean had been able to hold back and refrain from doing as they had, but when Annie had started as well, as quiet as it had been, he knew he couldn't resist any longer. He jumped in just as they switched to the lyrics, not regretting a bit of it.

" _We'll meet beyond the shore  
__We'll kiss just as before  
__Happy we'll be beyond the sea  
__And never again I'll go sailin'._ "

x-x-x

The five stayed out on the beach once they finished the beers between them, walking between the water that lapped against their ankle and the sand that sunk them with each step they took. When the sky burst into a thousand different colors and their hunger was made obvious, they shared two orders of nachos on the very end of the boardwalk. They had barely finished them when they were pushing and shoving each other into the water, either avoiding a wet fate or suffering the hard way. If it had been possible, they might have stayed out all night, but they were worn out when the sun finally dipped down past the horizon and the moon had full reign.

The five returned to the house, which was in a much more positive state than they had left it in. Sasha and Historia were in the kitchen chatting over hot chocolate, Connie making a beeline for them instantly. Reiner and Armin were in mid-conversation and went upstairs, but Jean found himself walking over to the den that was to the right. The television was still running, and in front of it stood an impressive fort made of pillows and blankets. Popcorn bowls and an assortment of empty cans of soda and beer littered the ground, surrounding the pillow fort like a moat. He peeked inside once he was able to get in front of it, but, almost instantly, a bitter feeling settled in his stomach. Marco was with Mikasa, Ymir and Bertolt, seated between the latter two, but all four in a deep sleep that must have been wanted more than he thought, if the dark circles weren't anything to go by.

Annie stood nearby, at first watching him but then following his gaze to the sleeping quarter. As he shut off the television before it caused one of them to wake up, she stood where he had been, in front of the fort's opening. He wasn't sure what she was going to do, but he had an idea.

"Good luck," she mouthed to him.

"You too," he mimicked.

As he was walking away, the musician realized that if there was going to be anything done between him and his boyfriend, it can be done that night. He wondered what their time apart—for one day—could bring for them. There was too much time to waste being frustrated at small things that can easily be fixed. It was time to start going up.

He went upstairs and found the room they had almost shared. The covers on the bed were ruffled and disorderly, as if any sleep that had been reached had been restless. It looked relatively untouched; the only difference was the partially-opened doors leading to the balcony, as well as the trash can beside the desk that was almost overflowing with tissues. The swivel chair was pulled out, and atop the desk was a ball point pen, a paper, and a statue of a red dragon.

The paper was a letter, addressed to him. Almost the entire sheet of paper was made of cross outs, mistake after mistake blotted with heavy curved lines that failed to completely cover up a word, something he recognized from their time as penpals. The rest of it was round, damp spots scattered on the paper and even blurring some of the ink marks. Seeing them was enough to cause his stomach to lurch and turn with distaste; it wasn't difficult to figure out what they were. Something inside of him told him to put the paper down and wait for Marco to come back upstairs, but his swift glance at the letter's contents only increased his curiosity.

_Dear Jean hello,_

_It's only been a day and it already feels like I haven't seen y_

_You have no idea how guilty I feel for shoving you away. I want to ask you to_

_I'm writing this because I don't know what to do with myself anymore and_

_You said you would come back, right? And you weren't lyi_

_I don't know if you'll read this but if you do,_

_Please don't leave me behi_

_I want you to know that you mean more to me than I could ever show y_

_Seeing you leave reminded me that I had made a promise to never let you leave me. Yesterday, I failed to keep you with me and I feel like_

_How did this happe_

_We are very stupid peopl_

The last line of the paper was the only thing not deleted. Seeing it, so simple and so plain yet so powerful, sent a chill running up his spine.

_I miss you. Please come back._

If he didn't know that he was downstairs sleeping, he would have convinced himself to go out and find the Californian. Writing line after line, even when it was deleted, and showing off what was as close to a representative of his true feelings in regards to their argument was more than he had asked for.

"What are you doing?"

Jean jumped at the familiar voice that broke the silence in the room. His hands grasped the letter, as if he was protecting it with his life. The taller male looked away when their eyes made contact, amber to hazelnut, and he retreated into raised shoulders.

“If you wanted to sleep in here, you should’ve asked—”

“I wanna talk.”

Marco grimaced, his face visibly showing the hurt and lingering remains of shock on his face. There was something about him—anxiety?—that made it obvious that this situation was having nothing but a negative effect on him. “Jean, it’s late. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

Jean's eyebrows furrowed at that, irritation filling his veins. “I waited thirteen years to see you, and I couldn’t talk to you for two of them. I’m not avoiding you any longer.”

The taller male gasped at that, eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to be at a loss for words. He almost thought that he would leave him there, but Marco, frowning with his head bowed, walked over to and sat down cautiously on the bed. "You can keep the letter if you want."

Jean abandoned the letter on the desk and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, to give the Californian space. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 12:34 AM, better now than later.

"How have you been?" He asked; as ridiculous of a reason it might be, one of the suggestions from Armin was to start off with simple questions before confronting the issue.

Marco glanced up at him when he spoke, and shrugged. "I'm fine," he replied in a small voice. "Hung around making popcorn and watching Netflix.”

_That sounds like the saddest shit ever. We really fucked up._

“What about you?”

“I’m good; went down to the beach. Not alone, with Annie, Armin, uh, Reiner, and Connie. We got nachos and pushed each other into the water. It was fun.”

“Mm. That does sound fun.”

“Yeah.”

“…you said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I did. I…I want to apologize for what happened yesterday. I should have respected what you said and not buy the dragon.”

“No—Jean—” Marco let out a sigh in exasperation, one hand dragging through his hair. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I need to be apologizing.”

“Marco—”

“Jean, _please_. Just hear me out.”

“…alright. I’m listening.”

The freckled male nodded, breathing slow and easy, his eyes shut, before he started speaking once more. “I’m sorry for…a lot. For not accepting your gift in the first place, for not appreciating what you did, for…for pushing you away.”

“You didn’t push me away.”

“I told you to leave. That’s close enough, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” Jean scooted closer to him so that their knees touched. "You needed space, and so did I. There was nothing wrong with you asking for that, and there still isn't."

"But I—" The Californian struggled to speak the words in his mind. "I thought about going after you, but I stopped myself because I didn't want to make you any angrier than you already were, and—" Voice cracking from the emotions welled in his throat, tears bursting through the dam constructed, he started to break down. His cheeks were quickly stained by water tracks, but it didn't stop him. "I messed up so bad, Jean. I-I ruined us—I broke us!"

"You didn't break anything." The Virginian reached over to grasp his hand tautly, and their palms squeezed together. "We're here again, right?" He gulped down a harsh lump in his throat. "We're, we're gonna work on it."

The freckled male choked on a sob, trembling and caving in on himself. "I-I just want to be better again… I want my best friend back!"

This time, Jean didn't waste anytime in pulling him close in a tight embrace. His hand pressed against the back of his head, gentle and slow. Marco, in response, tugged on the back of his shirt to pull him closer as he burrowed his face into his shoulder. He bubbled out continuous apologies, the same two words over and over despite their muffled sound. The musician, hearing the words, had no way to respond, as he had released what had been holding his own tears back. If he had been able to, if he hadn't been crying and momentarily disabled from forming proper words, he would have let the Californian know that it was okay, they were okay, he was forgiven, he was just as sorry. Instead, he squeezed into their hug and pressed a kiss against the top of his head, burying his face in the dark tresses.

When they were all but dried out, quiet save for their sniffling and sighing, Jean scooted back and looked at him. As soon as he could, he wiped the tear tracks away with a swipe of his thumb. “What do you wanna do?” He asked in a low voice. “Should I stay here?”

“Yes,” Marco nodded firmly, his eyes ablaze with what looked like fury but came out in his words as pleading desperation. “I don’t want to leave this bed.”

He couldn’t help but laugh quietly, a small chuckle amongst the heavy atmosphere. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He tore off his shirt and shorts, and pulled down the covers while the taller did the same. Once the clothes were discarded, they climbed under the covers and pulled the covers over their shoulders. Jean adjusted the blankets around them before he slid back down on his side and scooted over to the chef. Their forms fit together like pieces to a jigsaw puzzle: formed and made in different ways, but created for the sole purpose to find their perfect match. It had been found in October, 2001, but the full picture hadn't been completed until the first time they looked at one another, in October, 2014.

They fell asleep instantly, facing one another and holding him close to his form. It felt like a dream, a thought their minds had conjured up to tease and mock them for their heartbreak. But this was reality, and it was official when they awoke to still see him there, eyes glistening in the beams of light from the outside world.

“You have no idea how happy I am to have you back here,” the taller whispered, one hand reaching up to caress the side of his face gently.

Jean nuzzled into the delicate touch, eyes shut. “Same here,” he responded at the same volume. “For a while, I thought we were done.”

The frown appeared once more, this time with alarm and fear. “I thought the same too, but… I figured since we never said it, that we never really broke up, so…”

“That’s what I thought.” The musician scoffed, shaking his head. “Looks like two great minds think alike, huh?”

“…yeah.” Marco grinned, faint yet familiar. “Two great minds.”

“Two very great,” Jean pecked his cheek, “very handsome,” his forehead, pushing back his bangs to do so, “very troubled minds.”

The Californian laughed quietly at each kiss, his eyes shutting before reopening and accompanying his smile. “You missed a spot.”

It didn’t take long to catch on to what was being said, and once he began, he couldn’t stop. Their lips met soft and slow, refreshing the memory they had of each other. Hands traveled back down familiar paths, arms and legs wrapped around whatever they could reach. Fingers tugged through strands of hair, entangling among the short locks. It wasn’t until Jean pulled Marco on top of him, breathless and urging, locking his legs around his hips, when they came to the realization that this was going farther than planned. What had started off as a kiss was going beyond original intent, without a single regret or heartbreaking thought. If they wanted to stop, they would have found it impossible to do so. They drowned in his hands, in the affection he held for him, in the love that pounded in his heart and through his fingertips, that could go no other lengths for another person but each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The song Connie gets the friends to start singing is "Beyond the Sea". If you've seen "Finding Nemo", it's the ending credits song. It's a good song, but the lyrics are really symbolic of their situation.


	28. Harmony and Finality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning for some dirty talk in the first half of the chapter.***
> 
> Enjoy these happy moments while it lasts. That's all I'm saying.

Jean woke up to faint streams of sunlight, an empty bed, and a body that ached from exhaustion and last night’s vigorous activities. Avoiding the dull ache that filled his lower half, especially from his backside, he turned onto his stomach and promptly shoved his face into Marco’s pillow. If it weren’t for the faint scent of vanilla and the fact that he was in a room he had previously been unwelcomed in, he would have thought that last night was a dream. However, judging by the memories that flooded his vision, it was a pleasant, intimate night, completed with simple kisses and embraces.

Marco emerged from the door that led to the bathroom, with nothing on but a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He was humming to himself as he strolled over to his duffel bag and got out a full bottle of soap. Jean found himself watching him walk across the room, and when he bent over, showing his rear to his two-toned-haired boyfriend, it was welcoming the opportunity for something to be said.

“You know, I didn’t realize this until now,” he started, causing the dark-haired male to jump and yelp in shock. “You have a lot of freckles on your ass.”

The Californian, his cheeks turning scarlet, tsk’ed and shook his head, a warm, relaxed smile on his face. “Gross boyfriend,” he teased. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mm, nah.” Jean rolled over onto his side to face the taller better. “Too awake.” Marco snorted as he headed back for the bathroom. “I thought we would go for a second round this morning.”

“Um, I wouldn’t call it a second round, but okay.”

“Right, right. It would be more of a…seventh round, wouldn’t you say?”

“Jean!”

Smirking as he heard the bottle of soap drop against linoleum, the two-toned-haired male scooted off of the bed, legs first, and casually strolled into the bathroom. “Is there room for two?”

“After what you said? I’ll have to think about it. Leave your request form in the inbox, please, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Tch. Jerk.”

“Rude, rude boyfriend. You’ll get nothing at this point.” Marco checked the water’s temperature by running his hand under the faucet before he eased himself in. As he reached for the soap bottle, Jean grabbed it almost immediately, causing a frown to crease on the freckled face. “Jean, stop!”

“Mmmm, maybe. I’ll have to think about it. Leave your request form in the inbox, and we’ll get back to y–”

The freckled male tugged on his arm and brought him into the bathtub, sending water out on the floor and Jean into his lap. He grabbed the bottle before it could be taken out of his reach, and then smiled triumphantly as he opened and poured it into the tub. “There! Now you’re in the tub, and I have my bubbles, and we can relax.”

“But you–”

“Shhh.” Marco pecked his cheek and leaned back. “It’s time to relax. Like this.”

The musician huffed but didn’t protest, instead opting to stretch out alongside Marco, who had shut his eyes, arms wrapped firmly around Jean. He got into a comfortable enough position before he leaned against the Californian. The sound of his heartbeat, one thump after another, served as a pleasant rhythm that could have lulled him asleep, and, he hoped, would lull him to sleep in the future, if they continued on in this way.

Marco moved only once to turn off the water and to add more bubbles, which were starting to build up and cover their bodies with light streaks. When he moved back, he gathered some and set it atop of the Virginian’s head, and then laughed. “You look like an elf,” he grinned.

Jean looked up and patted the top of his head before he grabbed his own handful of suds and pressed it against the chef’s chin. “And you look like a goat.”

“Aww~” He kissed his nose, and then skipped down to his lips. “Such a nice boyfriend.”

The duo relaxed one more among the bubbles and warm water that cooled their skin. For what seemed like an eternity, they sat in a comfortable silence, one that was soothing and completed the mood they had set. Even when the water started to chill and the bubbles had disappeared, they stayed where they were, simply enjoying each other’s presence. For Jean, this was as good a time as any to mention what had flooded his mind since yesterday night, when he had returned home. "Hey, Marco."

"Hmm?"

"…how would you feel if I said…" He stopped himself before the words could spill. Was he even ready for this big of a statement to be said? Even if he could see himself spending the rest of his life with him, the future was indefinite. Anything could happen. He wanted it to be romantic, splendid. And, preferably, not in a bathtub in Virginia Beach. "I'm happy we fixed everything—not everything-everything. But what we've done so far."

Marco nodded, but then chuckled in response as he did. "Which actually isn't a whole lot, huh?"

Jean's initial reaction was confusion, but then he caught on to what was being said. "Oh, yeah, no, heh. Guess not, huh?"

"Probably because having sex with someone six times usually means you're okay with someone. Unless it's hate sex. Or you're a hooker."

"Pff. You say that so casually."

"It's true!"

“Mm. What should we do now, though?”

“I’m up for anything. As long as it’s not, y’know, breaking up or anything like that.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t want that either. That would actually be bad.”

“Good. I don’t want to either.” He grinned, followed by quiet laughter. “So we’re okay?”

Jean mimicked him, his smile gentle and relieved. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good!” A pause, accompanied by shivering bodies from the chilled water, before Marco asked, "Do you wanna get out now? Maybe cook something to eat?"

"Can we cook together, or are you gonna hog the stove?"

"No promises!"

x-x-x

After drying off and getting dressed (wearing each other's hoodies instead of their own), the duo went downstairs and cooked breakfast to pleasantries that were extremely different from when they first arrived. The atmosphere in the entire house was positive, and laughter flowed easily throughout the halls. There were few closed doors, and those that were open presented wide windows that welcomed free breezes, and surrounded college students who were brimming with confidence and freedom. Even the sunlight that poured into every inch of the house's interior was, finally, genuine and filled them with peace. The relationships among the house had also improved considerably. When Jean and Marco had first entered the kitchen, Sasha and Connie sat at the island and fed each other fresh fruits, not even paying attention or taking notice of the new company. They let them be for now; their happiness, after what they had been through recently, should be uninterrupted.

It gave the musician a chance to simply be with Marco, to watch him move in his element with undeniable grace and passion. He had taken up a guitar at some point, when his knowledge and skill of cooking ended, and as he strummed away absentmindedly, a rush of déjà vu overcame him. Although he hadn't been in this predicament before, he had always imagined it in his head: him playing a guitar, his boyfriend cooking and humming and smiling, where one would stop what he was doing and simply admire the other for the skill he was showing off. And that's exactly what Jean ended up doing for the chef, wrapping his arms around his waist lightly and resting his head against his shoulder. It was a subtle way of letting him know how relieved, how happy, he was to finally be with him again.

"You're very snuggly today," Marco noted as they ate their breakfast, side by side on the swing on their balcony. It was a location they both agreed on, in respect to the couple still in the kitchen and to get away, just the two of them, with no interruptions.

"Am I?" The Virginian hummed, tracing patterns in maple syrup with his fork.

"Mhm; I mean first, you wanted to take a bath together, and then you turned into a sloth while I was cooking breakfast—which you didn't help with, by the way." The taller nudged him with his elbow. "Lying boyfriend."

"You pulled me into the bathtub first."

"Yeah, but you asked if you could come in with me. I was doing you a favor–like last night, when you were begging me to go faster and touch you _right there_ —"

“I’m not snuggly.”

“Oh really?” Marco rested his head atop of his, where it was resting against the taller male’s shoulder. “Then what are you?”

“I’m not anything. I’m just Jean.”

“Just Jean?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm.” A brief pause, a light chuckle. “I like you as ‘just Jean’.”

“Thank you for recognizing me as ‘just Jean’.”

“But you’re still snuggly.”

With a huff, the musician shoved his boyfriend off of the swing. “Fuck off.”

Marco burst into laughter as he was kicked off the seat and landed on the floorboards. “Aww, come on, Jean, you know I love you!”

The words that left his mouth were proceeded by a wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression that was evidence enough he had been unprepared to say something like that. There was no taking it back, and any attempt to would only end up in confusion and unneeded issues. When the dark-haired male finally shut his mouth, a worried crease set upon his forehead, and added to the uneasiness around them. Jean hated the change immediately and, deciding to change the circumstances, dropped onto the ground in front of the Californian and smile at him, carefree and easy and receiving nothing less than that in return.

“Yeah. I do know. I always have."

x-x-x

Later that night, after they had had their respected dinner plans, the group of twelve went out into town in search of a place for dessert. Due to the events of the last two days, they had completely forgotten Eren’s birthday and had made no plans of celebration. Therefore, they met up at a bakery that had indoor seating and was able to accommodate for their large group of twelve.

"Well would you look at this," Ymir smirked as the last two to arrive, Annie and Mikasa, sat down at the table. "We're finally sitting together and not hating each other for once during spring break."

"Yeah, how does it feel to not get into an argument?" Reiner asked with heavy sarcasm.

"You mean how does it feel to understand what a relationship needs to survive and to fix shit before it gets out of hand? It feels wonderful, thank you."

"Just because you don't fight doesn't mean your relationship is perfect," Marco pointed out.

"I'm not saying we don't fight–we're just more private about it and don't include our friends."

"Fuck you too," Connie rolled his eyes.

The freckled female scoffed at him; "Amazing; your politeness has risen since we last talked. By the way, how are you and the glutton do—hey!"

From beside her, Historia shoved her girlfriend, causing her to spill some of her drink on her lap. "Stop being rude," she scolded her before she looked at the bald male and the brunette beside him with a small smile. "Did you guys finally figure things out?"

Both of them nodded, Sasha pausing to finish what she was eating to speak. "We did," she answered. "We talked about a lot last night."

"So you're officially dating now?"

She smiled but didn't say anything, cheeks tinted with red. Connie was silent as well, but the way they were practically sitting atop of one another didn't need an explanation or answer.

"They're totally banging."

"Ymir!"

"I'm just being honest!"

"Hey, prima donnas," Eren waved at the duo to gather their attention. "It's my late birthday celebration, and I would love it if we could not end this in a fistfight."

"We weren't going to fistfight. Also, happy birthday, Earen. You're finally legal enough to drink alcohol."

"Ymir, if you don't be quiet, I'm going to shove my fist in your mouth."

"Try it; I'll bite it right off!"

"So did you do anything for your birthday yesterday?" Bertolt asked suddenly, probably to get the focus off of the rising argument.

Eren shook his head; "Nah. I went shopping with Sasha and Historia, but that's it."

"We got floppy hats and flip-flops," Sasha grinned happily. "And then we got pizza that tasted like feet."

"So while you were off on a shopping spree and you two," Ymir jabbed her finger, which had been pointing at Eren, back and forth between Annie and Armin, "were taking care of three overgrown children, I was putting three Humpty Dumptys back together again."

“Three?"

She pointed at the three people in reference, which included Bertolt, Marco, and Mikasa. "One, two, three. And now they're fixed."

"Partially," Annie corrected. She was sitting side by side to her girlfriend, relaxed in the slouched position they took when they sat beside one another yet it was also cold, as her back was partially facing the dark-haired female. "You helped, but you didn't fix everything."

"Oh please, I did good."

"You made a pillow fort and then took a nap while we watched 'The Office'," Bertolt pointed out.

"Again, I did good."

"I think as a group we did good," Marco shrugged. "I mean there's still a lot that needs to happen, but we're getting better at least!"

"How do you stay so positive, Mallomars?" Eren asked.

"I don't know; I just do it. It's kinda natural, I guess."

"Probably has a lot of experience dealing with Frowny Face over here," Reiner added.

Jean, who had been quiet beside Marco for the most part, snorted and glared at the grinning blonde. "You can't do anything better than 'Frowny Face'?"

"Quick and easy way to get you to socialize."

"You're being weird, Jean," Sasha pointed out. "You're not being social!"

"I don't have anything to say."

Marco leaned over and rested his head against his shoulder, peering up at him through his eyelashes. "Are you thinking?"

"Mm. If you wanna say that, yes."

"You're gonna worry yourself if you think too much."

Jean wasn't sure why, but there was something that told him Marco knew what he was thinking about. He was a mixture of relief and anxiety, both from different sources and both for different reasons. The former came from the success of the meet-up they had scheduled; all twelve of them were there and, so far, there had been no arguments. However, he couldn't get the conversation he and Marco had had during their dinner date out of his head.

_“Something’s worrying me, Marco.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah… I don’t know why. I just have this feeling that…something bad is gonna happen.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“…I don’t…really know how to answer that…”_

_“If you worry too much about little things, they’re only gonna get in your way.”_

_“Yeah, I know…but you can’t always hide from the little things. Sometimes, these things force their way into your life.”_

_“That’s true, yeah. Still, we don’t need to focus on that sorta stuff. There’s so much to do, so much to…to just let things be. We don’t have time to worry about this sort of stuff. We should be focusing on what matters, and what’s gonna be with us no matter what.”_

_“…is that what you do? You look at what matters and don’t let anything else bother you?”_

_“Well, yeah. I’ve always done that. For you, I’ve always done it.”_

The taller rotated around so that he could properly face his boyfriend. “Are you worrying about the small things again?” He asked quietly, one hand holding and entangling with his.

Reluctantly, with a soft sigh, Jean nodded. On one side, he was convinced that there was nothing to worry about. In contrast, there was a bitter feeling that ate at his insides, persuading him that they would be divided. Whether it was physically or verbally, he wasn’t sure, but he had been unable to tell what side was right, even with his boyfriend’s input.

Marco caressed either side of his face and pulled him close to him, before he pressed a soft kiss against his forehead. “If anything is going to happen to us, it’ll be because we do it ourselves. Nothing can get between us again.”

The musician hummed quietly, turning softly into his grasp. “If there’s a way to get rid of this shit, can you let me know?”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “I’ll make it especially for you.”

“Earth to Romeo and Juliet! What cake do you wanna get?”

At Ymir’s outburst, the Californian replied to her with his suggestion. Jean was too focused on the long, thin fingers that intertwined with his own, and the rugged palm pressing back against his. Perhaps Marco was right. Perhaps there really was nothing to worry about, and he was just coming up with scenarios that had no proof of ever happening. As far as he was aware, there had never been an instance where Marco couldn’t reassure him and shoo away the worry. This time was different; this time, he was certain that someone, something, somehow, was out to divide them, and it, or they, would succeed in doing so. He wouldn’t let it interfere with the rest of the trip and ruin spring break more than the tragic beginning had done.

The best option was to set it aside for now, keep it in eyesight but not enough where it was the main focus.


	29. Returns and the Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I'm saying is that you were warned.
> 
> Next week is a double-chapter update.
> 
> **WARNING for homophobia in this chapter. Please proceed with caution.***
> 
> Good luck.

_Six Days Later_  
_April 6th_  
_1:30 PM_

"Mom?"

Jean wasn't sure how they had gotten to the place he had unfortunately felt was going to occur. Spring break had flown by with days at the beach and late night chats by the fire pit. No arguments had risen between their group, and the rest of spring break was peaceful. When they returned to Trost Sunday and then to class Monday, they discovered that the video Levi had created from the photoshoot back in January had been completed. He invited them to see it at two-thirty.

They had built so much good karma, and yet there was Christina Bodt sitting on Fiji's couch, the mother who has given Marco so much trouble throughout the years, the mother who didn't deserve to have a son as good as Marco.

And Jean had even forgotten he had worried about something happening to them once again.

"I've been looking all around campus for you," she frowned as she stood up, tossing her purse over her shoulder and scurrying over to him. "Your fraternity brothers told me you would be with your… _boyfriend_." She said the word as if it were a poison on her lips, and her upper lip curled as she pronounced it with disgust.

Marco was frozen in his spot in the kitchen, hands trembling and eyes wide, as if a ghost had just passed by. He had been joking around with the other members of Fiji after a fun lunch downtown, was going to drop his things off at Pike, but now he was stuck. Jean hated seeing that look of fear on his face, how his hands were clenched tightly into fists and his lips were pressed together. Any amusement was gone from his features and replaced with fright.

When he didn't respond to her, her eyebrows furrowed together, a look that reminded him of Marco’s. And yet even then, disregarding their already different attitudes, it was still difficult to tell that this was his mother. She barely reached his shoulders, and the freckles had mostly faded from her skin. Though her hair was dark and wavy, and they shared the same eye shape and color. The rest must have been where Marco had gotten "Bodt", including height and facial structure.

"Thanksgiving, Christmas, and now Easter," she stated. "You were supposed to come back."

At the mention of the holidays, Marco's face blanched before his eyes burned with a fury that even startled Jean. "I told you I was never coming back."

"You were just exaggerating, Marco. You didn’t really mean that, I know you didn’t. You were upset and angry with us—"

"Because you've never been there when I've needed it!"

Her eyes flared with irritation at being cut off. "Don’t interrupt me. If you could listen to what I’m saying, you’d understand."

"As if you’ve listened to me!" Marco’s hands tightened at his side, as if to restrain from lashing out physically. “I’ve always talked to you when you asked me to, and you still shut me down!”

"You were upset and angry with us, and when you threw that…that temper tantrum, it was the last straw! That’s all!"

"It wasn't a—"

"Even your grandmother—"

The mere mention of his grandmother sent him into a rage. The members of Fiji had stepped back to give the duo space, though still remained in the house. It might have been better, to give the two their space and to let them hash things out, but until it was said otherwise, they were going to be by Marco and support him.

"Don't you dare use her against me," he glowered sharply. "You can't do that to me, not when she had to step in as a parent when you failed!"

"Nonna was never your mother. That role was always mine."

"There are no such things as roles, Mom. That's only for plays."

"We all have a role to play. You are the child, and I am the parent, and what I say, goes. And that’s the bottom line."

"Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?! I’m turning twenty-one in June! You can’t keep on doing this to me!"

"Maybe if we had _had_ a strong father figure, you wouldn't have turned into such a disgrace. You could have worked alongside me in the hotel, and yet you decided to go to school for business—what do you need that for? You’re not going to accomplish anything with that!"

Marco fell silent at that, his face dropping into despair and, if Jean wasn't mistaken, agreement with her. Was this what he had meant, back at Christmas, when they had talked about his family's affects on him? He wasn’t going to let her walk all over him, was she?

Reiner was the first one to break the silence, stepping forward and clearing his throat. "If I may say something," he began, but was cut off by Christina.

"Are _you_ the boyfriend?"

Jean knew he had to say something then, had to give his support in some way. He raised his hand as she had asked that, and announced to her, "I'm his boyfriend. And his best friend." Marco looked back at him, and the musician smiled reassuringly, as a way to remind him that he was here, Fiji was here, and they were going to back him up.

Christina opened her mouth to say something in response, but Reiner stepped in front of Jean, blocking her view and forcing her to look up at him. "Why did you come all the way here from California?"

She was hesitant to answer, as if she was untrustworthy of him, even if she had no real reason or proof to be. "My mother is very ill," she replied. "Her wish is to see my son before she passes on. I am here to make that wish come true."

Marco gulped and shook his head almost immediately as she had spoken. "You can't do that," he whispered; his voice was broken, cracking, as if he was on the verge of crying. "You can't lie to me and expect me to believe you just because you’re using my grandmother against me.”

“I would never lie about my own mother’s sickness.”

“…how did you even get here?”

“I had saved up enough money in case of something like this. I flew out here as soon as I could.”

“There aren’t airport in Suffolk.”

“There is in Norfolk.”

“But isn’t it really Marco’s choice if he wants to go or not?” Eren piped in from beside Jean. “I mean, he’s technically an adult—”

“We don’t need your input into any of this, thank you,” Christine snapped. “These are family matters.”

The brunet frowned at her statement. “I was just saying–”

“I said, we don’t need your input.”

“He’s only trying to help—” Armin attempted to add.

“And it’s not needed.”

“Mom, _please_ ,” Marco pleaded, his hands running through his hair and tugging. “You’re not making this any easier for us.”

“I don’t know who any of these people are. They could be mass murderers for all I know.”

“They’re my friends!”

“Are they _gay_?” She spat the word out with a look of revulsion on her face. It hurt Marco to see it, as proven by the way he tried to bite back a sob and the way his voice cracked.

“Sexuality doesn’t make a difference from how you treat someone, Mom. Do you really think who you love is going to matter more than your character?”

“It does in the eyes of God.”

“ _Please_ , don’t start with that—”

“If your God judges people for loving the same sex, then shouldn’t he judge us for gender and race as well?” Bertolt pointed out, his voice much firmer and louder than it normally was. Jean had almost forgotten he had been faced with the same situation when he was in high school. “And even then, He could break it down to Judaism, because Christianity breaks off—”

Christina scoffed and eyed up Bertolt. Her tone of voice was pointed, offended that he would talk to her like that, unintimidated by the height difference. “I’m sure you’re an expert in this field.”

The tallest male’s green eyes flared with irritation, something that was rare to see from a kind-hearted individual. If there was one thing to get Bertolt angry, it was doubt that he was incapable of doing any good. His introverted personality simply covered it up. “I’ve done enough research to know what I’m talking about. Trust me.”

“You’re one of _them_. You shouldn’t even be allowed on this campus.”

“Mom!” Marco shouted to get her attention. “You can’t say anything This is my family, whether you like it or not. They accept me for who I am, and they’ve never given me a reason to doubt myself. They’re the complete opposite from the shit I’ve had to deal with from my actual family. There’s no reason to be rude to them!”

“I’m not being rude. I’m simply letting them know that their presence is unwelcomed here.”

“This is our house,” Connie stated. “The only person who’s unwelcomed here is you.”

“How did you even get in the house?” Reiner wondered. “There are no spare keys lying around, and it’s breaking and entering.”

“Mm, I bet you’re the criminal type,” Christine sighed in a mixture of exasperation and discontentment.

“Mom—” The chef began, his voice just as shaky and just as fragmented, but was promptly ignored.

“You’ve probably already done your own breaking and entering. Who knows what you gays do in your free time?”

“I’ve had my experiences, sure. But I’m currently in pre-law, and I know my way around the court system better than you think I do. So I wouldn’t jump the gun so quickly. Because trust me—this court is just like any other. We don’t deal with shit like this lightly.”

Christine started to speak, but she shut her mouth and looked over at Jean. It felt as if he was standing right in front of a fireplace, the heat of her anger reaching out to him and beating against his skin to harm. “Do _you_ have anything to say?”

The musician could only snort and shake his head. The eyes in the room fell on him, to see and hear what he had to say, yet there was only one thing that came out of his mouth:

“You don’t want to know what I have to say to you.”

“Hey, we’re heading back over to psych now for the vi—oh.”

Sasha had entered the house as she usually did, but was stopped by what she saw before her. Annie followed in after her, but immediately pulled her back outside once she had seen it.

“We’ll meet you there,” the short blonde stated firmly as they walked back out of the house.

“You guys go ahead too,” Marco murmured under his breath. “I’ll catch up.”

“I don’t believe you will,” Christina scowled. “You’re packing your bags and coming with me.”

The freckled male frowned, but didn’t say anything else. Reluctantly, the group left, leaving the Bodt’s to themselves. Only Jean had remained, as he couldn’t make himself abandon his boyfriend when he needed someone to support him. He didn’t hold it against the rest of Fiji for leaving, though he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he had gone along with them.

When it was only the three left, Christine gave Jean another sharp glare. "I think it’s time for you to leave now."

"I'm not leaving unless Marco's with me," he stated firmly. The chef beside him gazed at him with wide eyes and amazement, shocked that he had defied her. "He's an independent adult and he doesn't need to deal with your shit."

"Jean—"

"If you think that my son is going to follow directions from you, then you're very mistaken," she snapped. "Marco doesn't associate with individuals like you, or your friends."

"And why not?"

"Because I said so. I know who he is, and I know the people he hangs out with, and they are not your kind."

"Really? You sure about that? Because the last time I checked, he spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, _and_ spring break with us."

"He can’t speak up for himself; he’s a pushover. If there’s enough influence, he’ll just go with the flow and keep quiet.”

Jean had to bite back a yell, and he stretched his fingers out to prevent them from curling into fists and flying at her. “Don’t say that about him, especially when he’s right here. You’re treating him like he doesn’t even have any feelings, and it’s really starting to piss me off.”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Follow your own advice.”

Christine let in a sharp breath, shutting her eyes momentarily. “My son had no way of getting home. So of course, when you bring up an offer to him, he’ll agree. He’s too weak."

"He was already home; there was no reason for him to fly anywhere."

"I believe you're mistaken—"

"No, _you're_ mistaken. You're suppressing him and you're treating him like a child, and that’s not right."

"Jean, please don't yell," Marco mumbled in a quiet voice, his fingers massaging his temples. "You’re acting ridiculous."

Jean frowned, and a cold chill ran through his body. After what he had done, and what he had said, that was the best he could get from him? "I'm trying to help you, Marco! That’s why I stayed here! I’m not the one going against you!”

“But you’re causing a scene and we really don’t need to have one here—”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You’re more worried about the fact that I might cause a scene when your mom is trying to drag you back to California?!”

“Because it’ll be away from you? Is that why you’re here?!”

“What are you saying?!”

“You’ve always been selfish, and you’ve always liked to think of yourself first, and…” The taller clamped his lips together, tried to control his breathing. “It’s almost like you just want me here because then you won’t have anyone!”

Jean, as gently as he could with his temper still sizzling, stepped into his boyfriend’s line of sight. “Marco, I don’t know where you’re getting this from, but wherever you got it…it’s bullshit, alright? And you should know that—remember the beach? Huh? We sat at the pit and burnt each other’s marshmallows? Or, or at Christmas, when those losers we call friends made us a breakfast for two? Or even at Thanksgiving, when I showed you your reflection and told you all the things I liked about you? And that I still like? You had taught me to… I mean I had thought…” A sorrowful pang hit his heart at his next thought, and with trembling lips, he whispered, “I thought that’s what it means to be in love with someone. When you’re with them…that’s your home. That’s what you taught me, Marco. You taught me how to find a home.”

Marco let out another broken sob, but his eyes and face remained dry and tearless. He shook his head and looked away, unable to respond.

Christine broke the silence they had created, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder and turning him to face her. For Jean, it felt as if he was being excluded from the conversation, even if he was right beside them. “Marco, dear, listen to me,” she began in a soothing, reassuring face. The falsity of it all was clear as day. “You’re going to pack your bags, and then I’ll bring you home, where you belong.”

“Marco belongs where he feels he belongs,” the Virginian butted in. “You can’t decide for him.”

Cold brown eyes shot daggers at him. “And neither can you.”

“I give him a choice. I’m just defending him because you’ve scared him too much to speak against you.”

“Don’t you dare lie like that to me. There’s no reason to speak against me; I’m his mother.”

“You’re full of it, aren’t you? You actually think you’re this…hierarchical figure that can do and say what you please, and that the rules don’t apply to you, but God forbid anyone else goes against what you say. Then all Hell breaks loose, right?”

“If I may intervene, though I know it’s none of my business, I would like to ask what in the hell is going on? And who is responsible for the lateness?”

Professor Levi’s voice interrupted their conversation from behind him, and caused three pairs of eyes to flit towards him. Behind him stood Eren, just as confused as the trio still standing in the kitchen.

“If you would mind introducing yourself first, I will gladly tell you what is going on,” Christine declared.

“Levi Ackerman.” The shorter man stepped forward and shook her hand. “I teach psychology here.”

“Christine Bodt, Marco’s mother. I’m here to take him home.”

“Home?” Steel gray eyes flickered back and forth between Marco to Jean. “I’m afraid he already is, ma’am.”

“I mean his _real_ home. In San Diego, where he belongs.”

Levi let out a long sigh, shut his eyes briefly, and reopened them once he was composed. “It is only April, Mrs. Bodt. School does not end for another month. If you really want to remove him from school, he would have to do it on his own. And he would have to go through paperwork before doing anything, especially if he’s signed up to return next year.”

Christine crinkled her nose in distaste. “I can’t simply take him home now? Sign a document and bring him with me?”

“This is a university, not a high school. Two very different things; if you would like, I could help you identify the difference. But that will have to wait.” He looked back at the two students in front of him. “I have something to show them, a project they’ve participated in that is now complete.”

“I’m sure my son would love to see it, but we must be going—”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re in the right to answer for him. It’s not your decision whether or not Marco gets to go anywhere. It’s _his_ decision. He’s an adult and can make big boy decisions on his own.”

“I—” Marco started before he cleared his throat, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. Jean reached up and wiped away the other side instantly, caressing his cheek softly; the taller jumped at the touch in shock, but soon leaned against his palm and sighed; “I want to see it.”


	30. Equal Adoration and Same Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the other day that this story is coming to an end, and I really don't know how to feel about it. It's a very sad thing. But we are going to get through it because we are part of this fandom, and this fandom is strong. *sobs uncontrollably*
> 
> There might be some confusion when reading this chapter, since it's set up differently like the others. So here's the best I can tell you:  
> -the bold starts off as Levi, and in the second section it involves the rest of his team. There's only one line after that that is 100% Levi, but you can find that for yourselves.  
> -the first order of italics goes as follows: Historia, Sasha, Eren, Reiner, Annie, Armin, Connie, Ymir, Jean, Bertolt, Mikasa, Marco.  
> -the second order of italics, unless otherwise stated, can be up to your interpretation on who said what  
> -the third order of italics goes as follows: Jean and Marco, Ymir and Historia, Reiner and Bertolt, Mikasa and Annie, Sasha and Connie, and Eren and Levi.  
> If you have any confusion, please don't be afraid to ask.
> 
> ***WARNING: Implied/reference homophobia in this chapter. It's only after the "x-x-x" that it happens, but please proceed with caution.***

Upon arriving at the lecture hall that was the same room Levi had been assigned for his classes, Jean saw that the four that had helped with the photoshoot in January–Professors Ral and Bossard, and radio hosts Eld and Gunther–had joined them. The members of Fiji and AOPi were there as well, situated in the front rows, the only groups present from what looked like a large photoshoot a few months back. Their entrance caused a few wary glances from their friends, but no questions were asked. Christine sat a few rows behind them, not enough to be near them but enough to be near Marco.

Levi stepped in the front of the room, where he usually stood during his lectures; the projector hanging from the ceiling was on and humming, showing nothing but an open video player window. “If you remember, at the end of January, you all stopped by for a photoshoot for a non-profit organization called ‘Equal Adoration, Same Love’,” he began. “Its goal is to help individuals in the LGBTQ community find safe homes and secure jobs. Professor Ral came up with the idea a while back to advertise EASL, and to reassure anyone in hiding that they’re not alone, even if there is no one there to support them. Of the people we had interviewed, we decided on you twelve,” he gestured to the students in question, “because we realized no one else could represent themselves for EASL like you could. And we were right.

“Now. Auruo, if you would please start the video.”

x-x-x

**_"Alright, so the first question I’ll ask is: what is your story? How did you get to be who you are today?"_ **

_"I honestly had a weird childhood? I mean my father had an affair with my mom, and he sent me to a boarding school somewhere near Richmond so that his other family wouldn’t find out. Then when I was eleven, after my father's divorce, he took me out and put me in public school until college. On my eighteenth birthday, I found out that in order to 'hide me' from my father's other family, my parents had two birth certificates created: one was my real name, Historia Reiss, and the other was who they told me I was: Krista Lenz. But they didn't find out that I’m gay until I brought my girlfriend home this year for Christmas, so I guess you could say we're even."_

_"Umm. I mean my parents supported me up until high school. Like, I'm bisexual, and when I told them about it, they got really mad and grounded me. My girlfriend at the time—Mikasa—we broke up because she didn't want to get me in any trouble, but we still stayed really good friends. And then I met this guy who…basically made my life more of a hell than it already was. We did drugs and drank a lot of alcohol; we had sex—always consensual. It was really unhealthy for me; he was really unhealthy for me. That was my…sophomore into my junior year, and my parents found out from a friend of theirs, even though we had broken up and I was sober for almost a year. So, in retaliation, they kicked me out of the house. I lived with Historia when I was a senior in high school and I haven't seen my family since."_

_"My mom died when I was ten, and that was before I really knew about myself, so…I think she would have been alright with the gay thing, though. My dad…never really cared for that sort of stuff, to be honest. And he didn't care about me or Mikasa either. He basically lived at the hospital, where he worked, when I was in high school. And he still does… Like, I came out to him, and he just sorta nodded. And then I told him about school and how it was going, and he did the same nod thing again and I…I don't think he heard me. At all. I think he still hasn’t heard me."_

_"I think my family has known that I was gay since I was a kid? I used to talk about how cute the guys were and I didn't really mention girls in the same way. But it was never really talked about until I came out to them; I was like 'hey, I'm gay', it was really casual, and they just ignored me and asked me about my day. And whenever I brought it up, they would always say 'Oh, Reiner, did you wash the dishes?' 'How was football practice?' It was weird. Historia—well, when she still went by Krista—she actually acted as my girlfriend because she wanted to see how my family acted with me. And…she said it was so unreal, no one could predict that that would happen to anyone."_

_"My dad has been everything to me. He went to Afghanistan when I was eight, and he stayed there for three years before he lost his legs in an explosion. After that, he supported me in any way that he could, and he made sure I was alright and that I was happy. When I told him I was ace, he was confused because he had no idea what it meant, but he said that…as long as I'm comfortable and I'm happy, he'll be alright."_

**_"And your mother?"_ **

_"I don't have a mother."_

**_"Did she pass away?"_ **

_"She left me and my dad for another man when we both needed her. I can't care about her."_

_"My parents left when I was…three I think? They wanted to travel the world, so they left me with my grandfather permanently and…never called or dropped by to check on me. It’s been me and my grandfather for years. I didn't tell him that I was gay because I didn't know how he would react, and even then I didn't want to tell him false information, since it was that weird 'searching-for-yourself' phase. But I told him I was aromantic, and I explained what it meant and how it applied to me, and he said…heh, he said he thought I was Armin, laughed, and then said he'll support me in everything and anything I do."_

_"My parents are those traditional Christian people? Like, they're really faithful but also really old-fashioned in a lot of their beliefs and stuff. They found out from our neighbors and one of those local community clubs that I was hanging out with people who were gay or bi, people they've known since we were in middle and elementary school who have always been my friends, and after that, they changed so much. They said how I'm not allowed to hang out with people who are going to Hell and how I have to never talk to them again, but the weirdest thing that happened was that they tried to get me to 'come out' to them so they could 'save me'. And I'm straight. And they didn't even believe me. Ever. My dad was the worst; I think if he could, he would have…y'know, gotten physical. My mom, she…she never stepped in, really. She let him say what he wanted to say to me…"_

_"I've been homeschooled since I was seven, because I got into a fight with another girl for stealing my lunch. And my parents are weird Norwegians, so they were just like 'no more school, Dad can do it'. But they got this deal, when I was in seventh grade, that allowed me to try out for sports, even if I didn't go to the same school, I think they said so I could make friends or something. And I played volleyball and softball, and we were really good. I don't know, I never had a problem with my parents like everyone else did. I mean they’re weird—they try to act really American but they have no idea what they're doing. But when I came out, they literally said to me 'yeah, I know, do your homework'. Apparently they knew from fucking context clues or something, I don't know."_

_"My brother caused so much shit when he was in school that when I got to middle school and high school, every teacher knew our last name and therefore assumed that I was just like him. Which was annoying as hell, because I could be just as smart as Mikasa and they would judge me and give me a hard time because I was a Kirschtein. Eventually, I just started to go along with them so that they would stop assuming and they would just know 'oh he's a Kirschtein, better watch out for him'. My high school teachers told me I was never going to break away from that, but I graduated sixth in my graduating class, and…now they don't doubt my younger brother."_

**_"What about your parents? Did they influence your life in any way?"_ **

_"I guess. My dad traveled a lot with his band, still does, so he didn't do a whole lot. Mom was good; she didn't ever judge me for who I am or get mad that I wasn’t who she wanted me to be—unless I was being a shit. She was chill about a lot of things, though. I came out of the closet to her—like, I hid in a closet and came out to her, and she was more focused on why I was in the closet in the first place. I…didn’t get along with them like I should have, though. I’m not the nicest person, especially to them… I was either with my friends or in my room trying to hide from them."_

**_“And when you were by yourself, you did…what?”_ **

_“…I wrote letters. To a guy on the other side of the country.”_

_"The person I am today is…half from my friends and half from my younger brothers. I'm the oldest of four, and I was really close with my siblings, even if our ages weren't. We looked out for each other and we were always hanging out; we had a really strong bond, and I’ve learned a lot from them. When I came out to my parents, they…my parents said that they were disappointed that I was 'choosing' this life. And it's ironic because I remember them saying, a few days before that, how they felt bad for my friends and how they weren't getting treated right for being themselves. It's like anyone else could be gay except for me. As soon as I had graduated high school, they asked me to leave and…basically banned me from going home. I haven’t seen my brothers since."_

_"I lost my birth parents when I was nine to a drunk-driver; I've lived with the Jaeger's for most of my life. That was my…saving grace, I guess, when I met my brother and became close with him. Mom and Dad always made sure I was comfortable and that I was okay and adjusting well, but when Mom died, he…stopped, basically. It's like he was only living for himself."_

**_"Does he know about your sexuality?"_ **

_"No, he does not. And I don't want to explain what biromantic or asexuality is to him when he's just as absent as the rest of our families."_

_"A majority of who I am didn't really come from family. My dad's never been around, my mom worked a lot and never got to spend time a lot of with me; we were poor, so that was her best option. A lot that I know about cooking and general life stuff comes from my grandmother. When I came out, she was the only one who really accepted me for who I was. My mom…denied me. A lot. But I didn't get who I was from them; not really. I didn't build my character from them."_

**_"Where did you get it?"_ **

_"Heh, you would probably think it's silly, but… I've had a penpal since I was in third grade. We wrote letters to one another for years because that was the easiest way to communicate. I learned more from him, someone I met for the first time three months ago, someone I've loved for years, than I could from anyone else."_

_x-x-x_

**_"You've been friends for years now. And you've been together and given one another support throughout most of your childhood years."_ **

_"Yeah."_

**_"How has that affected your life in contrast to your families?"_ **

_"These are some deep questions, Levi."_

_"It's a deep subject."_

**_There are a few things that must be understood in order to completely comprehend the situation. They aren’t just friends who attend the same university._ **

_"Jean's standing on his tiptoes. Trying to be taller than me."_

_"Don't worry about it."_

_"Awww, look at him!"_

_“Not now, Marco, I'm concentrating."_

_"Bert, tickle his armpits."_

_"That's gross, no thank you—"_

_"Hold on, I got you, Mar."_

_"Reiner, no!"_

**_They're family that has never had enough support from their blood relatives, and they have relied on one another to pull through to the next day. And it has proved to be worth it, in the long run._ **

_"Your breath smells like honey mustard."_

_"It’s the Pringles."_

_"Honey mustard-flavored?!"_

_"Yeah!"_

_"Ew."_

_"I want one."_

_"Are they good?"_

_"Mhm! They taste like honey mustard."_

_"Gee, I wonder why."_

_"…these taste really good. Where'd you get them?"_

_"Secret secret, Springer."_

**_Initially, they started out as small clusters who barely even knew anything outside of their circle. From there, with time, they grew closer and brought in two new 'members' to their family._ **

_"Annie, lemme ask you something."_

_"Hmm?"_

_"Would you rather—"_

_"No."_

_“I didn’t get to finish.”_

_“Doesn’t matter.”_

_"Fine, then. Armin, would you rather cut off all your hair, or change your eye color?"_

_"Why would I change my eye color?"_

_"Because you can."_

_"Eren, you're stupid."_

_"Actually, Annie, doctors can change it now."_

_"Really?"_

_"Really."_

_“Oh, I read about that somewhere.”_

_"The fault in our sciences."_

_"You can leave now, Jaeger."_

**_While listening to their stories, it’s evident that if it weren’t for those around them, surviving their younger years into adulthood and college would not have been easy. They had to rely on one another, and had to hold each other up in order to keep up hope and not lose sight of what truly matters._ **

_“You smell like ass.”_

_“Why do you know what ass smells like?”_

_“Because you’re an asshole.”_

_“I really fucking hate you, you know that?”_

_“I want to punch you so hard in the face, your eyeballs come out your ears.”_

_“I want to punch you so hard, your eyes will make a hole in the back of your head, and then bounce back into the same hole.”_

_“I want to punch you so hard, but your boyfriend would probably get mad and fail me.”_

_“He’s not my fucking boyfriend.”_

_“Just your regular boyfriend then?”_

_“Marco, your boyfriend’s being an asshole.”_

_“Levi, are you into tattletales?”_

_“Shut the fuck up, Kirschtein!”_

**_They have created their own community; they’ve built up who they are and their paths of success in life. And they did it together._ **

_“I dare you to pick me up.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I wanna see if I can escape.”_

_“Okay…?”_

_“Ooh, throw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes!”_

_“Okay!”_

_“No, wait I changed my mind—Reiner I changed my mind—Sasha how could you!”_

**_They are just as human as you or I. And they keep true to this fact as they see the faults in themselves and those around them. But they disregard them to bring their family members closer together._ **

_“I feel like one day, Armin, Historia, and Annie are going to rise up and destroy us all. They're just gonna be like 'fuck it' and take over, and everyone else will die."_

_“Talking shit, Eren?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“We’re gonna start a revolution.”_

_“The world will be run by tiny blondes!”_

_“Ymir’s paradise!”_

_“Valhalla!”_

**_Some may refer to them as misfits: they don’t belong, they’re odd, their diversity makes it difficult for them to work together. And they are different from what society can label them as. Though they tend not to worry about what everyone else think as long as they’re happy and satisfied with how things have turned out._ **

_“Have you ever played ‘Marco Polo’ before?”_

_“I mean yeah? I guess?”_

_“Did you ever think they were calling your name instead?”_

_“That happened one time.”_

_“So I can call you Marco Polo then.”_

_“Umm.”_

_“Like a polo shirt.”_

_“No, you can’t call me that.”_

_“But Marco—”_

_“Polo.”_

_“Marcoooo—”_

_“Polo.”_

_“No, you can’t do that now!”_

**_Though there’s one vital asset that holds them together that withstands everything else._ **

_x-x-x_

_“Ooh. Your hair looks nice today. It **feels** nice today.”_

_“Thank you. Your freckles are cute.”_

_“You look really short from this angle.”_

_“Wha—I—well thanks for ruining the moment!”_

_“I’m just pointing out the obvious!”_

_“You’re not even that much taller than me.”_

_“Aww, pouty, baby boyfriend. Here, lemme make it better.”_

**_Because they have sexuality preferences that a majority of the members of society do not approve of, they will have to face more roadblocks than they have already run into._ **

_“Can we get her an applebox?”_

_“I don’t need one, just lean down!”_

_“Someone help the queen, please. She’s not even five foot.”_

_“I don’t need—thank you—I don’t need an applebox!”_

_“Historia, stand on the applebox.”_

_“I don’t want to stand on i—Ymir, put me down!”_

_“Oh, wait, this is easier.”_

**_Because who they fall in love with, who they see in a different light than anyone else might, is more important than the judgment that has been placed on their shoulders._ **

_“Do you wanna go out after this?”_

_“Sure. What do you wanna do?”_

_“I dunno; take a walk in the park?”_

_“It’s fifteen degrees and you want to take a walk in the park.”_

_“Well, we can do something else—”_

_“You are legit the most ridiculous person—”_

_“Just wanted to take you out. For fun.”_

_“…come here, you nerd. Let me kiss you.”_

**_Who we hold hands with or kiss goodnight should matter to no one but ourselves. Yet some still see it as a priority to decide if it fits what is assumed as everyone’s “moral codes”. Love is an uncontrollable force that is difficult to hold back. If you can restrain it, however you can, we wish you luck._ **

_“Do we have anything after the bake sale?”_

_“I can’t think of anything, no.”_

_“Good. We should hang out.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah. Hanging out. Getting hot chocolate. By a fireplace. Making out. Or just kissing, whatever you’re cool with.”_

_“Sounds romantic. I’m up for it.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“…cool.”_

_“You’re smiling, Leonhardt.”_

_“And? Are you gonna stop me, Ackerman?”_

_“Not unless you want me to.”_

**_Love is an interesting process. It’s around us, with us, in us, present in our everyday lives, yet we cannot control it. If we feel a certain way for someone, then that’s how we feel. People move on, and people recover from broken hearts, but love will find us in whatever way it can._ **

_“I’m so hungry oh God.”_

_“You just ate a whole bag of potato chips.”_

_“Yeah, and I’m hungry again.”_

_“Well, here. Have the rest of my rice.”_

_“Really?!”_

_“Yeah, go ahead; I’m not gonna finish it.”_

_“You’re the best, Connie!”_

_“Haha, come on, Sash, I can’t even compete against you!”_

**_There will be a day where who we love will not matter to anyone. There will be a day where we can walk down the street, holding the hand of our dearly beloved, our one and only, and not have to worry about anyone else’s opinion. I await the day where they, who have represented themselves with so much pride, whether it be these twelve or the others in this world, can do that and not be judged._ **

_“Levi? What are you doing?”_

_“Stand still and let me kiss you.”_

**_I await the day where I can do the same as well._ **

**_Equal Adoration, Same Love: it is what it is. And it cannot change._ **


	31. Decisions and Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really fucking short but really fucking sad.
> 
> ***WARNING: homophobia in this chapter. Please proceed with caution. It is light, but it's homophobia regardless.***
> 
> If crying, don't be alarmed: it's healthy. And it won't get better from here, so just??¿ I don't know; good luck.

The end of the video ushered in a silence out of speechlessness, and the room lit once more as the lights were turned back on. If Jean didn't know any better, he would have assumed that he was the only one left in the room, or that his hearing was impaired. Beside him, Marco attempted to clear away the tears that had managed to dampen his cheeks. When he glanced up at his boyfriend, he laughed weakly and gave a just as strong smile.

"It still needs to be tweaked at certain points," Levi informed them. "But for the most part, it's finished."

"Is this going out to the public?" Eren asked, his voice unusually quiet.

"By the beginning of may, if we can get everything else ready. There are still a few things that need to be done."

"Does it get the message of the program across?" Petra asked them, her eyes wandering particularly to the woman sitting behind the students. "That's one of the big pictures that we need to get to."

"Just by using us, you said something," Ymir remarked with a scoff. "And you did it really fucking well, damn…"

Christina from behind them sighed and shifted in place, and Jean could instantly tell that the others were either suspicious or unhappy with her, or even both. "I understand why you would use them," she confirmed, "and I can see the message of equality you're attempting to pull off. But I do not agree with it at all."

"We're not asking if you agree with it," Eld answered. "We're still going to post it, whether you like it or not."

"You should consider what I have to say. These things will not pull over with everyone."

"Not everyone will be okay with it," Auruo snapped. "And it doesn't matter what everyone thinks because it's not for them. It's for the individuals, like your son, whose family has denied them for being themselves."

Her face contorted into annoyance. "I have not denied my son."

"As long as you're against relationships between same-sex couples, you have. And by the looks of it, you still are,” Levi stated, and turned to the students in the front row. "There will be a presentation night for all of this when it finally gets published. We'll keep you notified when we have more information."

There was pizza offered at the radio station for them, and, with the promise of food, the group headed out of the lecture hall. Gunther and Eld stayed behind with Jean and Marco, as Christina still sat waiting for them.

"Regardless of what happens between you and your mom, it was a pleasure to meet you," Gunther offered with a handshake and a small smile.

"Thank you," the freckled male did the same, though with a wince and false happiness. Seeing it made the musician's stomach clench.

"If you need something, we're always here," Eld added. "You know where to find us."

"That's…nice. Thank you both."

Finally, it was just the trio left, the atmosphere tense with unspoken words. Marco was hesitant to go anywhere near his mother. He stayed in place, standing in front of their seats, his hands tightly holding onto Jean's and visibly shaking.

"Jean, I…what happened before," the taller started, "um…I'm sorry for being rude."

"Don't worry about it," he assured him, pressing a kiss against his cheek and pulling him in for a hug. The chef relaxed from his tense state, eyes shut and hands winding around the shorter. "It's not important."

"Why do you care so much for my son?" Christina asked from her seat, gazing from one to the other. "Why did you change him?"

"I didn't change him," Jean replied as calmly as he could manage. "This is who he is."

"I don't believe it. There has to be something—"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you, but I don’t know how else you can see it. The world doesn't have to be made up of heterosexuals."

"What about children? Owning a house? Jobs?"

 _Two kids, a dog, a plant._ "We’ve talked about it before. And if not, we’ll get to it when we’re ready."

Christina looked as if she was trying to understand, and struggling to, before Marco broke away from his boyfriend and sat in the seat in front of her. "Mom, please," he begged in a low voice. "You have to understand. I'm not who you think I am or want me to be. And that's okay."

"It's not, Marco," she argued back. "You cannot live this lifestyle. And even if I was alright with it, you still must come back with me."

"I… Mom. I can't go back."

"Marco—"

"I can't, I…I can't leave my family."

It was at this point that Jean knew what he had to do. Since October, living with Marco, or with him in his life, was something he refused to give up, and quite selfishly as well. He had been with him, as friends for thirteen years, two of no contact whatsoever, and as boyfriends for only five months. And it wasn’t just him; he knew that Fiji and AOPi loved the Californian just as much, and they had become his family. They had bonded and grown to be more than initially expected. Now, here he was, half of him wanting to keep the freckled reason for his happiness and the other half wanting him to be there for his grandmother.

"Marco," he interrupted the conversation taking place. Both mother and son quieted and looked at him in puzzlement. "If you go to see your grandmother, then…it'll be okay. I'll still be here for you."

The Californian's face turned pale, and he stood up to grab Jean's arms as tightly as he could. "Don't say that," he whispered. "Please, _please_ don't say that."

"I mean it, Marco." He gulped and continued before he could stop himself from doing this at all. "Your happiness…is what matters the most to me. And I know how much she means to you. You need to see her before you can't anymore."

Chocolate eyes welled up with tears, this time falling. Despite whether he knew of them or not, the two-toned-haired male wiped them away. "I-if I go back there…I won't be able to come back. I'll have to stay there a-and they won't let me leave…" A broken sob passed his lips, and he dipped his head to hide in the crook of his neck. Jean held onto him, his hands curling into the back of his shirt. "I-I can't be away from you ag-gain."

"We can still write and text at least."

"I won't allow it," Christina intervened. Her voice was a reminder of the pain and heartbreak she was causing her son. "We need food and we won't have enough money for trivial things like letters. Once you come back, it's permanent."

"You can't hold me against my will," Marco whispered. "I'm an adult."

Jean stayed silent as the information settled inside him; even with what she was saying, he knew that they would find a way to get together again. His mom used to say, when he was young and chasing after Mikasa, "If Humpty Dumpty can be put back together, so can your heart". He noticed how it could be applied to this situation: he was sure that Humpty Dumpty could be put back into one piece and he would meet up with the sole person capable of making him feel that his life and his decisions meant something. "When will you two leave?" He asked despite the sickly feeling that filled his stomach.

"Tomorrow morning, at ten."

Marco broke at that, his sobs loud and heart-wrenching to listen to. It made Jean feel even sicker to hear them. "No, Mom—any day but tomorrow!”

“I need you out of here and back home as soon as possible. You're needed more there than you are here."

“That’s not true! That’s…that’s not…!”

“I won’t argue with you on this, Marco! We leave tomorrow.”

Jean’s stomach had clenched at the mention of tomorrow, the very day that they had been planning since they were kids, and the taste of bile landed on his tongue like a threat. Why did it have to turn out this way for them? Why did the world have to be against them, to build them back up only to shatter them once more? And yet he had given the okay on it. He can recall a letter he had sent about it, the excitement and pride he had taken in being able to tell someone how he felt about it. Marco listened, as he always did, as he always would, as he still did, and as he would not do for a long time. For the first time since October, since he had first met Marco Bodt in person, Jean felt lost.

Everything else was a blur until he found himself in the backyard, sitting in front of the fire pit in Fiji’s backyard. The musician couldn’t remember how they had returned home, the Californian pressed against his side as if they were attached at the hip. Few noises drifted from inside the house, what was mostly Sasha and Connie talking with Reiner’s comments. The sounds outside surrounded and bounced off of the bindings of their world, a familiar setting they had visited with joy but now united with each other in misery.

Marco’s sniffles and heartbroken gaze broke him out of his daze. He tried to smile, but the joy and mirth that had made itself home within him had vanished. He seemed too hollow, too laden with sadness, he wasn’t even sure if the dark-haired male beside him was his boyfriend or not. Jean wasted no time in kissing him softly, one hand reaching up to trace his jawline. They pulled back yet still kept in contact, through lips and hands and soft breaths that hitched momentarily and frequently. When the tears had returned from both ends, and they embraced each other as tight as they could, amber eyes found the letters that they must have been reading. He didn’t remember when they had gotten out, or how, but one glance at their content was enough to upset him further than he already had been.

_April 7 2002_

_Dear Marco hello,_

_Today is my ninth birthday. I am very excited for it. My mom is taking us out to dinner and then we are going to the park. Sasha and Connie will be there too. When is your birthday, Marco?_

_When I meet you, we should have a birthday party with just us in it. So no one else can inturveen. We can make omlets and spaghetti pasta. We should watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Ghostbusters. Have you seen Ghostbusters? It is a really good movie and it's not scary except for the end because of the big marshmallow man that destroys the town._

_My friends are coming over for a sleepover but I really want you to be here too. How long is it for you to drive to Virginia? Can you fly here? Don’t fly. Planes are scary. I don't like them because they are too loud and too high. Heights are bad too because you’re not even touching the ground, you’re just flowting. Did you know that my friends have penpals? But they don't talk to them like we do. Maybe they live farther apart. Do you know any state in the Pusifik Ocean?_

_I still want to have a birthday party with you._

_From,_

_Jean_

Jean's hope that they could still spend his birthday together as he had requested, as he had always wanted, were lost. Now, it was up to the fragmented pieces that formed him and wondered if there was any way for him to be put back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Pizza at the radio station" meaning there's a kitchen and a few offices there that they can eat in. They're not going to eat in the studio.  
> **The significance of the "tomorrow" date will be revealed in the next chapter. If you know what it is, I'm so sorry. If you don't, you'll find out next week, and I'll be sorry again.


	32. Farewells and Heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...don't have anything else to say, other than this is one of the last chapters. Like there are maybe five more Saturdays before this wonderful saga comes to an end. What's gonna happen, I wonder?

Sleep that night was not easy to find, especially when the numbers of the digital clock brightly displayed the gradual progress into morning. Marco was awake yet groggy, just as distanced from sleep as Jean was and just as tired. Connie, thankfully, had stayed over at AOPi with Sasha so that the duo could have some privacy and spend their last night together.

It was the end of their relationship, an end they never wanted to see or hear about. They had both experienced their first separation harshly, and with confusion as to why he had never received a letter back. And as he thought about it, Jean realized just how much his life had revolved around the freckled chef who lived in San Diego and who worked hard to survive reality each day. Everything was drawn back to that chilly October afternoon, when he eagerly ripped an envelope to shreds and read the first of many “Dear Jean hello”s.  The first friendship that he was sure had no fake covers over it, despite all of it being built on letters, evolved into a crush he wasn’t even aware of until he was in high school. From that point on, letters weren’t just received with a giddy flood of smiles to hear about his best friend's day. They were met with a stuttering heart and a churn in his stomach, and a smile that never fell. Meeting Marco in person, in a similar chilly October thirteen years later, was the second best thing that had happened to him, the first being the assignment of his penpal. He couldn’t even think about how different his life would have been if he had gotten one like Connie’s or Sasha’s.

From beside him, the vegan shifted and turned so that he was on his side and staring straight at the two-toned-haired male. His eyes, heavy with sadness, roamed over his face as his fingers did the same to his hair. The motions were soothing and delicate, yet they were done in remorse. Jean knew it was being done to burn the sights and touches into his memory, so that they didn't stray like everything else.

"If there was a way for me to stay," he whispered quietly, hazelnut eyes glistening with the small amount of unshed tears that had yet to fall from his eyes, "I wouldn't want to ever leave this bed."

"It's not going to be easy," he said at the same volume. "I still have no idea how we'll be able to do it."

"I don't…want to think about that." A small bubble rose in his throat, as if threatening to spill out every sorrow he held in his heart. “I-is that bad?”

“Of course not.” The musician soothed him by pecking his forehead and caressing his cheek. “It’s not easy for me either. None of this is, and it shouldn’t be.”

Marco whined and scooted closer to him so that he could tightly embrace the shorter. "We shouldn't have to talk about things like this."

Jean nodded in agreement, sluggish and slow, before he looked back up into glistening pools of chocolate resembling the melted version of the savory treat. "We started dating here, y’know. After the Halloween party."

A smile, as weak as it was, appeared softly from the Californian. "We did, didn't we?"

"Mm."

"You sang 'Come On Eileen' when we were walking home."

"And when we were high, we promised to go to Canada together."

"Oh." Marco paused in thought and then laughed; it was the first genuine sound of joy made that night. "Yeah…I remember that."

Jean nodded with a small rise of his lips and a chuckle. "I'm still taking you there."

"You don't have to."

"I made a promise to you. And I don't break promises."

The dark-haired male tried to smile, but it fell back into a frown, and he set his forehead on the Virginian's shoulder. "Oh Jean… What are we going to do?"

It was a question Jean had been wondering himself, but a question he found himself unable to answer.

x-x-x

 _Norfolk_  
_April 7_  
_8:35 AM_

Marco and Jean, both who hadn’t slept the entire night, and couldn’t even if they tried, had kept their shows of affection to a minimum. They got out of bed with a morning kiss, but got ready without anything else. The Californian had packed his bags at Pike the night before, and had gone to retrieve them and say his goodbyes. When Marco returned, it was to a kiss and small nuzzle before the couple separated and continued. In terms of carpooling to the airport in Norfolk an hour away, with Sasha driving and Connie in the passenger seat, the couple in the back held hands that rested in between them, tight and unyielding. Not a word was said in the car aside from the two in the front seat, normally talkative but conversation kept to a bare minimum of mumbles.

The brunette parked the car and cut the engine, and Connie mumbled something about getting the bags from the trunk. Sasha offered her assistance, leaving the other two in the car, silent and unwilling to move. It wasn’t hard to tell that they were trying to stall time, to wait and see if the plane and Christina would go off without Marco and forget all about taking him away from his home. But there was no escaping this reality, no matter what was tried or thought.

"Why can't you just…stay?" Jean murmured under his breath. The freckled male had undone their hands and opened the car door, halfway out, but then closed it and sat back down. "You can just tell her you're not going back. Fight her, or…or something. Anything to get her off your ass."

Marco sighed, glanced outside at the airport before them, and then faced his boyfriend. "I wish I could, Jean," he whispered back. "You know that. But I can't fight her. She'll only break me even more."

And without another word, but with a small, desperate peck of the lips, the duo stepped out of the car. Sasha and Connie stood with the others from Fiji and AOPi, who had come to say their goodbyes. Jean wondered if they knew how he would react to it all, in the end, and if they were also there to keep him from doing anything drastic—to himself and others.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Marocco," Eren began as they pulled apart from a hug, "it's gonna be weird without you around."

The Californian laughed weakly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I bet… It feels like we've been friends forever.”

"You're welcome anytime to stay with us," Bertolt offered. "Just because you're going back to California doesn't make you any less welcomed."

"Even if you are a Prick," Reiner added, before he cleared his throat. "Sorry—Pike."

The joke was enough to bring a smile, shaky as it was, to his face. "I appreciate that a lot—even if you're all Feces."

Jean kept his distance, leaning against the car and listening to the quiet farewells that were bid around him. He was the only one, as far as he knew, who was going into the airport with Marco. Although he wouldn't be escorting him to the gate, he wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he was unable to do anything with him at all. The only reason why he was a few feet away was to give the others a chance to say their goodbyes to his boyfriend. They had accepted and brought him into their lives just as much as he had. He was their family member, now forced to leave them for something they had all ran from and despised, something that had brought them together in the first place and was now separating one of their own.

"We're gonna pull the car up to the front," Sasha informed him softly, as if speaking too loudly would break him. He didn't blame her; who knew what could shatter him now?

Jean only nodded, and Connie stepped forward to pat his shoulder, but ended up embracing him instead. The taller, stiff and silent, returned the favor. "If you need us, we'll be right outside," he mumbled into his ear. The musician had no doubt that his word would be kept.

Once Marco was done, and already holding back his emotions with a press of his lips, he and Jean headed for the entrance. It loomed over them as a symbol for an unavoidable doom that neither could escape. He grasped at a hand laden with freckles and squeezed, receiving nothing but the same in return. The Virginian already hated flying on airplanes, as an addition to his fear of heights, and this was adding to his misery. His fear started to blend with his despair that Marco was leaving him. What if the plane crashed, or leaked carbon monoxide and choked the passengers? What if it exploded before it could take off? What if it turned into a hostage situation, and he never saw the freckled male again?

The hand he held was meant to put the terror at ease, but it only added to it.

Christina was waiting for them inside, standing beneath the screen that showed the different gates and flights. When she saw her son, she smiled and grabbed his hand to pull him forward. If she noticed the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that he most likely looked as miserable as he felt, she didn’t say anything. “Ready to go back home?”

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly, and stole a glance at the two-toned-haired male beside him. What he was referencing was completely different to what she was referring to, and Jean knew it. “I am.”

Her eyes wandered over to amber, a burning type of brown staring at him and almost willing him to vanish. "And you're here as well. I don’t have a ticket for you."

"Please. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried," Jean sneered. Marco's nervousness returned with a tightened grip, a warning to cool down and not fight. The look he shot his mother was a reflection of that as well.

"Well then." Christina put on a phony smile. "Let's get this over with."

The three walked into the airport and into the line to check in their luggage. Jean kept his hand tightly pressed against Marco's callused palm, refusing to even let it budge. From the window to their far right, he could spot a few planes taking off in the distance, and his stomach churned at the sight. Tt was different now, unlike the other times he watched the metal tons lift into the air, and the sounds roaring in his ears matched the pounding of his blood for a different reason. His fear was combined with sorrow, heartbreak that he would have to give up Marco to a metal trap. There was nothing he could do to stop it, according to the dark-haired male. Everything was lost. And for that, he hated the metal contraptions more than he ever did, more than he ever could, more than he was even aware of.

"Is something wrong, Jean?"

Christina's voice, teasing and venomous as the line moved forward, brought him back to reality. He glanced over at her, to send a glower of intimidation her way, but the taller Californian spoke up first.

"He doesn't like airplanes, Mom," he stated, his grasp firmly pressing against his hand once more. "That's a—"

"Don't hurt him," Jean suddenly and unexpectedly interrupted him. His outburst took him back just as much as it did for the other two, but he knew that this was what he had to do. If she was going to force her son away, then he had to make sure he was safe.

Christina stumbled back in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

Marco, eyes wide and shifting from one foot to the other in panic, frowned. "Jean, what are you doing?"

Jean didn't answer him directly. He let his words to the shorter do it for him: "Take care of him. Love him. Don't make him feel like shit because he's different from what you see in him. Marco is an amazing person, whether you see it or not. And you're taking him away from what he loves. Don't make it be for nothing."

Christina sighed, as if his words were useless to her. "I'm his mother. Do you really think I would do such a thing?"

"I know what you've done before. You and your family aren't exactly the best people."

"They're best for Marco, that's for sure. They are his _real_ family. Nothing can come between that."

 _Yeah, sure. You mean it's best for you. Not Marco._ He had seen the letters, had gathered rage in reaction to their words and actions. Her words were empty to him.

It was their turn at a ticket counter, and the three moved there as best they could with the luggage and tense atmosphere. Entwined hands broke apart to shift the suitcases onto the scale, one after the other, but they returned as soon as they were done. It reminded Jean, with a direct sting to his heart, that his time was cut shorter than he had thought. As the tickets were pressed into Christina's hands, one being passed to her son that was taken reluctantly, he could only follow after him lamely, weakly, with no purpose and no motivation.

"I was lucky to snag that pass that can get us pass security," Christina sighed in relief, shifting her bag on her shoulder, and smiled at her son. "Are you ready?

"As ready as I can be," Marco replied, his eyes drifting to Jean with a weak smile. This was it: the remaining minutes, seconds, that they had as a couple. Once he went past security, they would be over.

Whatever it was that she said next was lost to them, as the duo met in a taut hug, their last one for who knew how long. Jean knew that he would be seeing Marco again, one way or another. That was a future he had built on; it was something he knew, something he was dedicated to, something he refused to let slip away from him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," the chef whispered, partially muffled by the fabric in his way. The musician could only nod, as his throat closed up and prevented him from saying any words. He was expecting this, awaited the moment where the ability to speak would be more difficult than he could ever imagine. There was only one thing he could do, one thing he should do, one thing he would do.

Setting his chin atop his shoulder and taking a deep breath, Jean breathed out the words he had never been able to say until now. He was sure it would hurt his boyfriend, but he wanted this moment to mean something for them besides a goodbye that would never be said.

"I love you."

Marco's breath hitched, and he pulled away to make a hazelnut contact with amber. For a moment, it wasn't clear if he had heard it or not. A lost look returned in his eyes with full-force, and Jean could only predict he was in the same boat.

The kiss that landed on his lips was welcomed despite the bittersweet taste it left in his mouth. He returned it as best he could without letting the influx of emotions out and into the already heavy atmosphere. His hands grasped onto dark locks and squeezed without causing harm. When they broke away, foreheads still touching, Marco answered the statement as well, hot breath falling between the close proximity they were in.

"I love you too."

"Marco, it's nine-ten, we're going to miss our plane," Christina chided, and tapped on her wristwatch for emphasis.

It was evident on Marco's face that he wanted to take Jean with him, or at least stay with him a little longer. But he knew there was no arguing with his mother once she had her mind set. And no matter how much the Virginian screamed at himself internally to fight her, to convince Marco to get away from her, he knew it was Marco's choice to follow her. And if that was what he decided, who was Jean to force him out of making his own decisions? He would be just as bad as she, and a bigger hypocrite.

The hug was broken with reluctance that was too obvious to ignore; almost instantly, Mrs. Bodt was grabbing her son's hand and dragging him to security. Her pause to show the pass she had to cut through the long lines created a miniscule moment for him to look back and send one last smile, as sad as it was, to the life he had created, to the town that had been so promising to him, to the friends he had made and loved and molded as his new family, just as they did for him. Most importantly, it was a gaze and a wilting smile at the penpal from Virginia who never spelled "omelets" right, who liked music and had been confused of his identity, who had difficulty loving himself for his faults and traits, who loved Marco more than he could carry in his heart and on his person and who would never stop doing so.

And with another tug on his arm, he was gone, past security, already away from Virginia and college and all that he had owned and created.

The words "goodbye" had never been said. They were avoided with all costs.

Jean's mind drew a blank then; he blocked out what he was doing, what he had done. All he knew was that, when he came to, he was crying—weeping—and Sasha and Connie were in front of him, asking if he was okay, if he needed something, if he could answer them. He touched his cheek with the pad of his finger, stared at the dampness that touched it, an unwanted evil. His answers to their question, he wasn't sure of, because he couldn't think of anything besides Marco, who had been standing right there, who had walked away from him, who had done what they vowed they would never do.

Was he sitting down? Was the smell of sweets coming from Sasha, or was the distinct vanilla aroma he had picked up a trick his mind was playing? Was that Connie holding onto him desperately with thin hands, or was it Marco trying to wake him up? His mind had melted into a puddle of bewilderment—whose kindness, with soft words and gentle meanings, was that coming into play: Historia's? Bertolt's? Or was it still Marco and he just couldn't see him? Had he come back for him, to continue what he had said he would, or was Armin returning with a bottle of water?

The hands that had been by his side vanished—had Connie gone to get the car, had Reiner taken his place? Or had Marco's coarse hands returned on his arm, on his shoulder? Had Marco, who always ended up crying at heartwarming moments and movies with a happy end, handed him tissues, or had Mikasa found a supply? Why were there freckled hands tugging him up from his seat—did they belong to Ymir, or had Marco broken away from his mother's control and was now pulling him out of the sadness he was drowning in?

The support of the seat beneath him was gone, and his legs gave out. There was a cry of alarm, a shocked gasp, a barking order for the door. The freckled hands—he couldn't see if it was Marco or Ymir—left him and were replaced with two distinctively different presences. They were walking, though dragging would have been just as successful in description. Was that Sasha on one side and Reiner on the other, the distinctive smell of vanilla and the smooth calluses from firm hands invading his senses? Had Annie opened the door with a kindness so pure, with the simple plan to help? Was that a car in front of him, and was he getting inside? Was that Eren beside him, assuring him softly, so foreign from his usually loud behavior, holding a pack of tissues and a bottle of water, as if he was wielding the friendship that they hid with playful jabs and harsh fists?

Jean had known that the loss of Marco would be hard for him to take. But even with the cooperation and support of his friends, all he could see, all he could want, was a freckled Californian and his warm smile that shamed the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Prick" and "Feces" are the nicknames that Pike and Fiji use for one another. They have no actual relation to the fraternities and are purely fiction.  
> **Jean's fear of airplanes and heights (aviophobia and acrophobia respectively) are headcanons of mine. So basically this experience was a whole lot worse because of this.


	33. Repercussions and Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't as bad as the last one but. It's still got some important shit. And it's still sad. So.
> 
> Three more chapters after this one, and then this story is coming to a close. I haven't really decided what spinoff to focus on next, but I have a new story coming up soon that I have been dying to working on. I have a few, actually. One is a spinoff of canon material, and the other is some angel vs demon business that's already posted! So if you wanna see some satire and aren't offended by religion, go see it with your eyes
> 
> You're awe-inspiring. Stay alive.

During the car ride home, after wearing himself down and feeling like his very soul was trembling from despair, Jean finally slept. His head was set in Eren’s lap as thin fingers, without freckles and without the coarse sensation at the palms, carded through two-toned hair, soothing in the motions they took. He dreamed of nothing, not even the Californian that had left his side and was now on his way back “home”, to the place where he had been born but had no other connection to, other than it was the thief that had kidnapped someone who had no reason to live in such a state anymore.

When he was woken up because they had arrived home, and he trudged through the front door, stopping only to remove his coat and shoes, he slept some more. Both Fiji and AOPi had been excused from their classes, thanks to Levi. There was nothing else for him to do, nor was he needed anywhere else. He would have to call Eld and Gunther and let them know what was up, though he didn’t doubt that they had a rough idea on what was going on.

If he could, he would have slept forever, but he was once again disturbed from sleep by a shoving force. He came face-to-face with Connie as he turned over blearily, his eyes adjusting to the dim light that filled their room. “You’ve been sleeping for eight hours, Jean,” he frowned. There was something about him that seemed off, an unknown force that was upsetting the bald male. Then again, it was his best friend that had lost his boyfriend, so he suspected what had put him off. “Can you at least come downstairs and get something to eat?”

The musician, instead of giving a verbal confirmation, pushed himself up out of bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. It wasn’t enough to raise his spirits, and he felt just as horrible as he did before he had fallen asleep, but Connie seemed less tense having him out of bed.

Although he had no idea what to expect when he went out of his room, he wasn’t expecting the rest of his roommates, with freshly-opened beers and a basket of tortilla chips. Upon closer inspection, beside the chips, was a bowl of melted cheese. In the living room, there was a collection of pillows and sheets ready for use. Armin was figuring out Netflix on the television by use of a gaming console.

“Eld and Gunther brought us beer while you were asleep,” Eren stated from the kitchen. He gestured to the three six-packs sitting on the counter, and an empty cardboard container. “What movie do you want to watch?”

Jean took a beer offered to him by Reiner, but still kept quiet. He shrugged his shoulders, and took a long sip from his drink. The taste, normally bitter and initially warranting a grimace, had no effect on him. There was nothing for him to react to. All he could think about was a freckled face making a look of disgust whenever he had a sip before stating that it “tasted illegal and gross”.

If he could, he would rid himself of anything that reminded him of Marco Bodt. He already knew who he was, and that he had left him to return to California. The reminders were unnecessary and painful to see.

“Jay, _please_ ,” Connie pleaded quietly. He set down his own bottle and, grabbing his shoulders, moved the two-toned-haired male closer to his height. “Talk to us. We can’t be there for you if you shut yourself away.”

“I don’t care what we watch,” he answered, finally yet quietly, his voice sounding so foreign to his ears. “Put on anything.”

The frown still remained on his face, but he nodded nonetheless. If he was satisfied with an answer like that, then he was in for even more disappointment than before, as it was the best reply he would get that day.

As he sat down in the middle of the couch, Connie following close behind him and draping a blanket over the group's laps, he recalled a similar scene in October, after his first kiss with Marco, when Fiji hid bags of marijuana in Pike’s household. They had sat, he realized, in the same position, the same spots, and watched whatever was available to watch as they shared nachos and beers. At the time, it had been for a troubled friend who simply needed a distraction from the tingling feeling left on his lips. Now, they did it for that same friend’s broken heart, someone who simply wanted his boyfriend to return to him and prevent the relentless tugs of loneliness from dragging him over the edge, never to return.

Watching the movie was difficult, as Jean wasn’t in the mood to watch anything. He allowed his roommates to continue playing what they desired in a strained silence until they had fallen asleep to “Jumanji” playing in the background. It was nearly midnight, and he was still unable to fall asleep or do anything but wallow in his own sadness. His bowl of nachos were hardly touched, and his beer hadn’t had a sip taken since his first. There was no desire to eat or care for himself, and he wouldn’t have minded if he simply wasted away right there. It was barely half a day, and already his heartache was unhealthy. He needed to get away; he was never going to leave the house at this rate. From the dining hall to the walks between buildings to the city of Trost itself, his surroundings provided nothing but memories that only proved to twist a searing knife in his heart. He had to get away.

The musician wasn’t even aware of the email he had sent, and who he had sent it to, before he got a notification of its response and an address. Within five minutes, he was out the door and setting up a map on his phone to lead him to his destination.

x-x-x

_12:20 AM_   
_Trost_

“That was quick,” Levi scoffed as he stepped aside and let Jean inside his apartment. “When you said you needed to talk, I didn’t think it would be this urgent.”

“I needed to talk to someone that I don’t see everyday,” he answered, his first words in a few hours. His voice was gruffer than he had initially thought, and it sounded heavy, as if there was something that was putting him down.

The professor, closing the front door, raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t push any further. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.” Jean removed his hoodie, grasping onto it tightly. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Marco’s, so he curled it up into a ball and grasped it tight.

Levi returned shortly with a bowl of crackers and a glass of red wine, a fresh box of tissues on the dark wood of the coffee table. “If you keep standing there, you’ll turn into a statue. Sit down, Kirschtein.”

His apartment was as tidy as expected, and decorated nicely: scenic paintings, furniture in blacks and blues and giving off a strangely homely feel. The floor was hardwood yet there were carpets placed that fit into the general aesthetics of the flat. Two small steps led to the living room, with two armchairs and a loveseat sitting in front of the coffee table and television. It was like the living room was a body of water surrounded by islands, a small dip in the floor before the kitchen straight ahead and what must have been the bedrooms to the left. It smelled thoroughly clean, a lemon-fresh scent, but there was something softer alongside it, something warm and homely that he couldn’t describe but definitely appreciated.

Jean sat down in the loveseat, placing the hoodie off to the side and hoping the vanilla aroma would leave. Levi slid the crackers and box of tissues across to him before he took a spot adjacent to him, in the armchair. “I would warn you and say that for every crumb you spill on my floor, I’ll make sure an equal amount of your teeth join it as well. But I can already tell you’re not here to be ridiculed.”

The musician grimaced and let out a long breath. “What gave it away?”

“Well, your boyfriend left you this morning to go back home, for starters. But even then, you don’t seem like the kind of person who would randomly ask for help from his psych professor at midnight.”

Despite the validity in both statements, Jean still found himself clenching his fists, held out in front of him due to elbows resting on knees, and he glared at the shorter. “Look, professor, I really don’t want to get into this with you, so if you’re not gonna help me, I can just leave—”

“Sit down and shut up, Kirschtein. Jesus, I knew you and Jaeger were alike, but not this much. I haven’t even started.”

“Well then get on with it.”

“If you would be quiet and patient, I can.” Jean, hands tightening, pressed his lips against each other to stop himself from saying something he would regret. “Now. He returned to California. Correct?”

He swallowed a rough lump in his throat, forcing himself to speak. “Correct.”

“Not on his own free will.”

“…depends on how you look at it.”

Levi raised an eyebrow at that, eyes sparking with interest past his wine glass. “How so?”

“Well, he…” Jean paused, realizing that he was about to spill more than he was comfortable, but then retracted and let his defenses down. He needed this, he knew; talking about it to someone who was basically a professional in this area would help him. Plus, Levi didn’t know the full story. It was less biased and sympathetic, and was more analytical in its responses. And he needed that more than anything. “His mom came to get him, so it’s not like he went because he wanted to. But he didn’t put a lot of fight into it as I thought he would. He just… It wasn’t exactly going along with it, but it was more like… The way he was acting made it seem like he didn’t have a choice on whether or not he was going with her, so he was more focused on trying to convince her to change her mind instead of letting her know he was staying here with us instead of going with her, and she would have to deal with that.”

“And you wanted to see him deny her instead of changing her.”

“Basically, yeah. You can’t really change a person, especially a stubborn one. And you can’t do it in a few hours, either.”

“You’re telling me.”

The musician scoffed, and he swore he saw a small crack of affection coming from the older. “Eren, huh?”

“Mm. You wanted to see Marco take a stand.”

“Well, whenever his family was brought up, he always said he wasn’t going to let them control him anymore, and how he was done with that part of his life. And yet he let her come in and take over so easily…it hurt.” A frown formed on his face, and the sadness that had welled up inside of him was replaced with fury, something he had forgotten ever feeling in regards to Marco. “I thought he would be more defiant against her and he…he let me down. And himself. He said he would never let them get between us, and yet he let her come in and force him back home! All because she wanted him there! And he didn't fight because he didn't want to disappoint her, because the thought of disappointing anyone from his decisions hurts him! He’s such a good person, it ended up hurting him! It hurt _us_!"

Levi hummed and took a small sip of wine, still calm and collected. He looked apathetic almost, but there was something beneath that showed he was listening, he was interested, and he wanted to help as much as he could. “You said something about her wanting him to come back. Did you not believe her when she said his grandmother requested him?”

“I heard Reiner and Ymir talking about it before you played the film. Whatever she said to Marco to get him to go along with her was a lie. If her mother really was ill, she wouldn’t have been so persistent or demanding. You can’t be that cold when someone you love is on their deathbed, especially when it’s your parent.”

“Huh. I didn’t think of it like that.”

Jean eyed the glass of wine and let out a deep exhale. “Do you have any more of that?”

Levi, placing his own drink down, walked back to the kitchen. “Red or white?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Good choice; it’s French. The white is Italian.”

“Oh joy. One less reminder.”

A small simper, followed by the pouring of a drink. “So what are you going to do now that he’s gone?”

He paused, for the question had been something that even he couldn’t figure out. On one hand, he wanted to escape from his surroundings and enclose himself in a place that didn’t hold any important meaning. If he wanted to remember Marco, he didn’t want to look around and see it from all sides. All he had to do was close his eyes and he would be there: an abstract presence of memories that removed him from reality and into their world, something they had created but could no longer interact with.

“College is important to me,” the two-toned-haired male started. Levi returned with the half-empty wine glass and handed it to him. He took it with a quiet thanks and took a sip for confidence before he continued. “But it’s gonna be weird to do what I usually do and not have him waiting for me. We used to walk to the radio station and get lunch or something, and we would walk each other to our classes. Sometimes, we didn’t get to because of what was going on, like tests or because we were running late, and that was okay, but…we were always able to talk. And that’s what made it okay: as long as we were able to talk, everything would be alright. Now that he’s back there, he’ll probably have to sell his phone, and I don’t know his new address. And I doubt he has a computer, not anymore at least. There's no way for us to communicate. We’re… We’re done. And I don’t want to look around and be reminded of that every single day. The memories of what we had are enough.”

“Then get away.” When Jean didn’t answer immediately, Levi shrugged, swishing the wine in his glass around. “You’re a musician. You don’t really need a college education. And you have that internship under your belt too.”

“But it’s unfinished.”

“Who gives a shit? You still have experience, Jean. College isn’t like high school; it’s always going to be there for you to finish.” He paused, most likely to contemplate on his next words. “I once knew a man who was in the same boat as you. He had everything he wanted, and then it fell down around him. But he still made it through and even if it took him a few years before he managed to get into college, he’s now doing impressive things, even if they’re only miniscule accomplishments. No one’s going to be mad at you for leaving. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be better for you, in the long run..”

Perhaps Levi was right; leaving would be better for him to cope with the loss he was suffering from. If he could get away and clear his head, even if it meant leaving behind those who cared for him and those who wanted the best for him, he could get better. He could smile and laugh and enjoy life for what it was, even if his heart was broken and would remain that way until he could pick up the pieces again. For now, they remained in tiny untouchable fragments that, if acknowledged, would only throb and pang against his ribcage, wanting warm kisses and the smell of vanilla and hands that held constellations on them to return.

“Professor…thank you.”

“No problem. And Levi’s fine, kid.”

x-x-x

“Hey, um…thanks again. For listening. And for the food.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“The wine was goods, too.”

“Heh. Imported from France herself. I’ll send you the brand.”

“Thanks… Wait—”

“Are you trying to break the door? I need to close it at some point.”

“I just wanna know… You and Eren. You’re a thing.”

“I like to call it ‘romantically involved’, but yes, we are.”

“And you’re happy.”

“Yes.”

“Right… And that person you were telling me about. That was you too?”

“You like to ask questions.”

“You like to change the subject.”

“Tch. It was me. Will you sleep better at night, knowing so much about my life? Or would you like to know how good the sex is as well?”

“Pff. Been there, done that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“…I think I’ll leave now.”

“That would be wise. I'll email you with an update on your enrollment.”

"Alright; thanks again, Levi."

x-x-x

Thankfully, when he returned back to Fiji, the movie was still playing and his roommates were still sleeping. It would make his night even easier than it already was.

Jean gathered his belongings onto his bed and packed them into the two duffel bags. His backpack, normally used for school, would hold any personal items he could carry. He double-checked everything to make sure he had what he would need, though there was few that he owned that mattered for him to take. Any type of article of clothing was packed away; from the bathroom, he only took two towels that he knew he owned and his toothbrush. Anything else, he could buy when he arrived at his destination. His laptop and charger, including the charger to his phone, were put inside its own separate case. There were a few books he took, which, despite not being an avid reader, had caught his attention and were a part of his small collection. His guitar had its own case, and he made sure that he had enough picks and music sheets to use, just in case. He was positive that there was bedding where he was going, so he didn’t bother to take it. Instead, he straightened it up and made it look appealing. The one throw that he had used on multiple occasions stayed on the futon in the room, folded and ready to go yet untouched.

The last item he packed went into his backpack, and he made sure he had it with him as well as the rest of its contents: the tin box that contained all of the letters he had written to Marco Bodt during their time as penpals. He refused to look or read any of them until he possessed a stronger mentality. It was hard enough to put them away for now; who knew what they could do to his emotional state if he opened them and just read them.

He had made a deal with Levi before he had left: if he did what he believed was best for himself, his professor would help him out, in this case taking care of all of the paperwork that he had to remove him out of the college system. The shorter also made sure he swore to tell his friends a better version than he would give; he knew that Levi would do him right in that respect.

Once he had everything packed into the car, Jean sent them texts explaining what he was doing. It was a shitty way to do things, and he knew he would receive backfire, but writing letters was something specifically for Marco. That belonged only to him.

He drove through the night to Virginia Beach, which served as a place of peace, to the house and town that would hopefully be able to distract him from the emotions that threatened to take control of him. Driving in pitch blackness had worried him, but he pushed it away by playing music that was on his phone to accompany him. It was enough to clear away the blaring silence that had enclosed around him since he left Levi’s.

His phone had gone off multiple times with text messages and phone calls. Eventually, when they became too frequent and too irritating, he put his phone into airplane mode and returned to his music.

Arriving in Virginia Beach was a mixture of accomplishment and worry for what was before him. He had enough money on him to last a while, and he was sure he could find a job doing something momentarily. If not, he was always curious to be a street performer.

He unpacked his bags in the same room he had shared with Marco, and then opened all of the windows to let the smell of the sea and the fresh breeze in through the windows. It was relaxing, hopeful, reassuring. It reminded him of why he was here, what he was going to do, and the person he would be when he would come out.

During his eleven-month long break in Virginia Beach, Jean went through several ups and downs in his ride to recovery. He struggled but rejoiced, he screamed but performed, he cried and hurt but he returned and persevered and succeeded.

But most of all, Jean wrote to Marco in a series of “letters”, from several types of lengths, in an empty journal he had found, that would never be sent. It was his therapy session that cleared his mind and helped him move forward and backwards, relentless in its motions but dedicated to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *If interested, one of the songs Jean ended up listening to (and a song that was a big inspiration for the last part of this chapter) is "Say Goodbye" by Beck. It's a pretty good song. Very sad. I recommend it.


	34. Writings and Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of my favorites. This is going up a bit earlier than expected, because it's game day and I'm going to be busy getting my tailgating on. So hooray!
> 
> There's only this and then another chapter before the epilogue, but I have a oneshot hopefully coming out soon. But fear not! This story arc isn't over, and neither is my writing. I'm writing a new story right now (a canon spinoff, if you will) and I am currently planning for Connie's and Ymir's stories. They both tell different sides, but it's okay, because it'll be great and fun and we get to see Jean and Marco through their POVs!
> 
> But yeah. That's what's happening.
> 
> (I hope I haven't used this already.) You are ravishing.

_2015_

_April 9_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I found this journal lying around in the room we used to share in Connie's beach house. I don’t know how often I’ll use this, or when I will, but I’ll put anything in here. Whether you’ll see this one day or not doesn’t matter. It’s better for me if I start out the entries like this._

_I came here because Trost and Stohess U were too painful for me to handle. Everywhere I would go, everywhere I would walk or think or see, would remind me of you, and what we were never able to finish. I never even went out of the house. I didn’t have to; I already knew. I’m alone now. But it’s better that way. I’m hurting too much to let anyone else see._

_At least here, in Virginia Beach, we were able to have some type of peace here. It's not as painful to walk around here for some reason._

_This house is fucking giant. But it’s my own personal rehab. And for that, it’s perfect._

 

_April 11_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Everyone dropped by earlier today. I was writing something for the piano and they just barged in, like they always do. They thought I became a drunk or resorted to drugs. It’s barely been two days since I dropped out. I know they mean well, but come on. I didn’t drink that much. I’m surprise I don’t. Maybe I'm maturing._

_They spent all day yesterday “hanging out” with me, trying to get me to talk, but I don’t think they realized the only person that can help me is you. I explained what I was doing, again, and I told them what was going on. I think they just couldn't believe what was happening. Could you blame them though?_

_I know I'm gonna see them again. Maybe not soon, but eventually. I just have to take baby steps. I want to get better. I want to be able to get up in the morning without having to see you every day, even if it hurts me._

 

_April 12_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Broke a guitar string and fixed it without hurting myself. I didn’t even use Google this time. I'm really fucking proud._

 

_April 13_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Went in for a job interview today at a local radio station. Somehow, they heard about what I did with Eld and Gunther, so they had me play for them, and I got the job right there. They seem alright; they’re not Eld and Gunther, that’s for sure. I bought myself a donut and a coffee to celebrate anyway._

_I wonder what you're doing in Cali._

 

_April 14_

_Dear Marco hello_

_It's been a week and I think I'm already starting to relapse._

 

_April 16_

_Dear Marco hello_

_For the first time since I've gotten here, I screamed "why" and almost broke a lamp. I'm already going backwards._

_Why did you have to say yes? Why did she have to come back and take you away from me? You're a fucking independent person; hello you're a person who can say "no" just as easily as you can say "yes". You should have had the power to do it, and you failed._

_I thought you would be able to. I believed in you. Whenever we talked about it, you always said you would and yet you didn't. How could you do this to us so easily? How did it come down to this? We were supposed to be together and happy but we did the opposite._

_I know this isn't really you, and I'm just writing it to make myself feel better. But I also know how much I love you, and no one can ever change that. And sometimes, it’s easier to think that you can read these, but just can’t respond._

_I need a drink._

 

_April 28_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I took a break from writing in here because I didn't want to have a thousand angry entries. I didn't do any drugs, and any alcohol I have is at night, when I'm not doing anything._

_I forgot how to write in this._

_Not a lot is going on right now. I'm trying to save money. For what, I don't know. But it's not being used for anything. I don't have any college loans; I'm not paying rent. I tried to, but Connie didn't let me._

_I really miss you._

_I really need to learn how to do things without you._

 

_April 30_

_Dear Marco hello_

_So apparently, from what the news has told me, Trost tried to stop giving out marriage licenses to same-sex couples and there was a giant uproar for a couple nights. EASL led a peaceful protest on the steps of city hall with a bunch of others, but Stohess’ Greek life was really big on it. I saw our frats on the news. I tried to get in contact with someone, but Reiner said he and Ymir were trying to get Eren out of jail, so I don’t know their story. But people were arrested, including the five EASL leaders. I always told Eld it would happen to him sooner or later._

_I wonder, if we were still there, if we would have gone to jail together._

 

_May 1_

_Dear Marco hello_

_There's a stray Dalmatian that likes to hang out around the studio. You know how dogs sometimes look like they’re smiling? This was this guy; he just sits outside with that grin on, greeting people walking by. I bring him a snack whenever I can. Lately, he's started to follow me home and sleep on the porch swing. And then the next morning, he follows me back and stays outside the studio until lunch or I'm done with work. I brought him to the vet this morning to see if he was healthy and had all of his shots and stuff. Then I got him a collar and a leash, and some food. And I got him a frisbee and a few tennis balls for the hell of it._

_I named him Rousseur, the closest French translation to "freckle"._

 

_May 4_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Connie and Sasha came up for the weekend for Con's birthday. It was fun; we drank beers and played baseball on the beach. Rousseur played a good outfielder and a great catcher, but he hardly gave us a chance to hit them. I got Connie a hat with a dumb pun on it as a joke, because it suited him and he's gonna need protection once it gets hotter. Then we made snow cones that were really just ice chunks because we lost the dye._

_We joked around, because you can't do anything but that when you're with these two, but we talked about some serious things too. They said they would be back during the summer and asked if I was okay with it. I don't own this house; if they want to live here for the summer, they can. Out of anyone in our group of friends, I would want them over; we’ve been together since pre-school, so it’s only natural that they’re with me during my rehab. And it’ll help me adjust to being around everyone. I haven't been able to spend time with any of them in a long time. I miss it, but I know I'm not ready for it yet. I text them at least, so that's a start._

_I tried your number the other day. It said it was out of service or something. I guess you really did have to sell it, huh?_

 

_May 18_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Holy shit. I thought I had lost this for good. Turns out I kept it on the balcony and forgot to put it back when Sasha and Connie were visiting. I thought I was gonna be done when I couldn’t find it. Do you ever get that deeply-rooted fear that you’ve lost something and you have no hope of finding it again?_

_Maybe I shouldn’t have said that._

_I’ll write more tomorrow._

 

_May 19_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I may or may not have reminded myself of you when I said that thing yesterday. I’m not even going to bother looking at it. I started a fresh new page. Is that sad?_

_Rousseur really enjoys the water. He’s not afraid to chase after crabs or his toys when a wave picks them up. Sometimes, he’ll try and catch the water in his mouth. I’m happy we found each other; he’s a great companion. When I don’t have anything else to write or do, he curls up next to me and puts his face in my lap. Isn't that what therapy dogs do?_

_All I know is that he doesn't judge me when I can't do anything but wonder what my life has come to._

 

_May 21_

_Dear Marco hello_

_So this border collie has started to follow me around, just like Rousseur did. When I take him out for walks in town, she’ll appear and walk beside us, like she’s a part of our family. Sometimes I give her a treat, and she’ll follow me home and sleep on the porch, just like Rousseur did. I think he likes her too; when she stops by, he runs out to greet her, like he’s known her before. I took her to the vet to check her out, got her vaccinated, and then brought her home. I think Rousseur’s happy to have someone to hang out with when I'm not around. It’s like we have the Queen of England dropping by._

_I know you’d get mad at me for not making that 101 Dalmatians reference when I adopted Rousseur, so I named her Cruella._

 

_May 22_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I was right to name her Cruella. I’m fully convinced she thinks she’s royalty, and she acts all proud and mighty when she's doing something so simple, like sitting on the couch or walking through the sand. It’s like she’ll ruin her nails if she walks too fast or something. But as soon as she sees a frisbee, forget the jewels and the crown, because she's gone._

_Ever since I've taken them out to the beach regularly for a little catch or time to get out and run around, I’ve noticed that it helps keep my mind clear and from crumbling under pressure. And if it’s not that, I'm doing it at home with music, writing and creating jingles for local businesses that liked what they heard on the radio and are asking for my help. It's not a bad gig, and I really do enjoy doing what I do; it's just a lot of work creatively. I'm tired even when I'm writing this._

_Connie and Sash are coming back soon. I'm probably going to end up writing here less and less for two reasons: one, because I don't want them to see I've been writing in this and see me struggling; and two, because them being here for the summer is going to help me break away from what happened between us. There will be a day where I can stand up and be reminded of you and not fall apart when I try to smile. And the sooner I can get there, the better._

 

_May 25_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Sasha found this. I was in my room for the night, and I had gone downstairs for one glass of wine, and I guess I had left it out in the living room the other day, because there it was, on the coffee table, out in the open. I think Sash knew what it was because she had read the latest entry and then put it down. And when she caught me looking at her, she smiled, as if to tell me that she knew what it was and that it was okay._

_I don't know how to feel about this._

 

_May 26_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I don't know why, I think it's because I woke up realizing I never got a chance to count all of your freckles, which is ridiculous and petty to think about, but I couldn't get you out of my mind all day. No matter how hard I tried to focus on something else, I just couldn't do it. I feel so weak right now. I didn't even get out of bed. I can't relapse now. Not with Con and Sasha here._

_I’m just going to try my best to get through this._

 

_May 27_

_Dear Marco hello_

_It happened again._

 

_May 28_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I don't want to get better. I don't want to make myself wake up in the morning and have you in California. You don't even want to be there._

_Connie knows what happened. I didn't leave my room at all yesterday unless it was for the kitchen or bathroom. Today, the three of us, five if you count Rousseur and Cruella, took a long walk to the boardwalks and back, just talking about what they can do to help. I don't think there's any real way that they can. I don't think anyone can, except for you._

_I wouldn't mind that at all._

 

_May 29_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I wonder if you're trying to get to Virginia, or maybe you're already here and just unable to contact me. Everyone saw you before we met; maybe that's the case now?_

_Then again, those aren't my friends. If that had happened, after they know how important you are to me, they would have called me._

_I asked Armin what to do, and he offered to come over and help out. Not to stop what Sasha and Connie are doing, but to maybe help where they struggle. We haven't seen each other since I left Stohess. And I couldn't say no to his offer; even if I knew there was such a small chance of anyone being able to help, I was going to try, for their sake. Who knows? Maybe it'll help me too. He'll be here in two days. I might take a break from writing in here, just because June is your month._

_I really wish I could see you again._

 

_May 31/June 1_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I wish I hadn't come here so soon, and I wish I didn't have to sit here and write to tell you about this, but everyone else is sleeping. My dogs are next to me, and even though they help in their own way, I have nowhere else to go._

_I just woke up from a "dream" I was having. I was in this long corridor-looking thing that I swear was from Harry Potter or some shit like that. And every door along the way was open, but there was this metal gate stopping me from entering, even though I could still see inside of the room. And in each room, there was a weird monster from Greek mythology or something fake that was brutally murdering anyone I cared for, including Cruella and Rousseur._

_Including you._

_Blood hasn’t bothered me since I was a kid, but to see that happen, even in a nightmare, is horrifying. It was so vivid and intense, I thought it was real for a second. I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t move on my own accord. I was in so much shock, my body locked up and froze on the spot._

_Sasha had been going to get a drink when she heard me and woke me up. If it weren't for her, I'd still be having the worst nightmare I think I've had, thinking that hell had truly merged with real life._

_Why did you even leave me in the first place?_

 

_June 3_

_Dear Marco_ _hello_

_Armin came over yesterday. I've never seen a person keep me so fucking occupied. I think he had this plan all along, but I can't be too sure. I couldn't even write this until I was sure he was asleep._

_He kept me out of the house and in town as much as he could. As soon as work was over, we went to lunch and then walked around town, just talking. Something I've always liked about Armin is that you can talk to him about anything and not have to worry about being judged. He thinks about everything before giving his advice. Plus he doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. He wants what's good for his friends, but he also isn't afraid to let us know if we're wrong or not._

_I'm pretty sure we walked all over town until dinner, and then we went to the beach to put our feet in the water. I really wish I could list what we talked about, but I can't even remember what. I mean I know what he said; but specifically? Hell, we probably solved half the world's problems in that time._

_Armin mentioned something to me that I hadn't really thought about before—which is stupid of me once you hear what it is. When we were at the beach, I told him about the journal, and how I write to you even though there's not a chance I'll see you again. He never asked what I wrote, and he never asked to see it, but he pointed something out that I still don't really know what to say about. Armin said he finds it funny that I think there's not a chance, and that, I quote, "if you and Marco really loved each other, which we know you did, there will be a chance you'll see each other again." It was just a reassuring thought. I'm still doubtful—I think it's an "out of sight, out of mind" thing. But I don't want to get my hopes up._

_I don't think I'll write in here for a while._

 

_June 16_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I went all vegan today. Seriously, I give you credit for this. I never knew how hard this was to do. How do you do it?_

_Happy birthday. Thank you for teaching my heart how to love._

 

_June 26_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Happy Marriage Equality Day. The United States has it. I think Sasha and Connie cried for a good hour or so. They could get married at any time, and yet they’re acting like they finally get the chance to._

_I wish we could have gotten the chance to marry._

 

_July 4_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I told you I wouldn't be writing for a while._

_A lot has gone on during the past month. I didn't think I could do it, but these idiots proved me wrong. Really, I love them. But they're talented sons of bitches who care for someone that couldn't give two shits about anyone that's not himself right now. And his dogs, of course._

_After Armin left, a day later, no joke, Sasha dragged me out of the house to take a walk with Rousseur and Cruella while Connie got groceries. Nothing special; just a walk. I don't even know how long we were out; the dogs were dragging us back home by the time we had finished._

_Everyone left me alone on the 16th._

_The next day, after work, Reiner appeared and we hung out on the boardwalk. It would have been a nice talk, and it was for a while (he passed the fake trial he had, by the way), but he shoved me in the water and from there it was just us wrestling and trying to dunk one another. But I made fun of his nose, so I guess I deserved it._

_Then, a few days after that, Connie and I went to the movies. Remember that theater that shows films out of theaters? We went there and watched “E.T.” He still gets scared by it, just so you know._

_After that, everything was chill. Apparently, Greek life at Stohess was officially disbanded because, to put it in Eren’s words, “shit went down, people were arrested, and EASL’s on the Today Show”. I watched it; Eld and Gunther are definitely a thing. Professor Ral and Bozard were pretty much attached at the hip, and Levi was at the helm of it all. I still don’t know the whole story though; Con and Sash said it’s better if I don’t. I wonder if Wagner or Mina tried to tell you._

_Historia sent an Edible Arrangement to the house. Ymir, with the same basket, sent a hand-drawn picture of a horse that said “Get well soon”. In case you were wondering, Ymir’s still a shit._

_That’s really all that happened that was important. Summer’s halfway over, and Sasha and Connie are already getting ready for school again. I’ll probably never say this to them, but I’m proud of them and what they’ve done so far. No matter where they go, they’re gonna make a great team, because you know they work so much better when they’re together._

_So here I am, on the Fourth of July, sitting with a beer that taste more like shit while Rousseur hides under the chair and Cruella tries to eat fireflies beside me. Sasha and Connie are trying to set off fireworks and are failing miserably at it. Maybe I’ll help them out before they burn down the house. I think overall, I’m doing okay. I feel good and refreshed, like I did some cleansing bullshit that AOPi tried two years ago._

_I think I’m going to be alright._

_Happy Independence Day._

 

_July 7_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Annie came over to visit today. She walked into the house, without knocking because she “can do whatever the fuck I please”, with a bottle of Merlot and asked for cheese and crackers. We sat outside on the front porch, even though it was a thousand degrees outside, and filled each other in. I wasn’t really close with her, growing up, but I like her. We get each other on a level that most people would probably never get._

_At first, we just caught up and talked about what was going on. She got accepted for that archaeological dig or something that she applied for in January. I think it’s with Berner, the biology professor who hangs out with Professor Zoe? But as of right now, she’s set to graduate in December with summa cum laude and then flying out west to start working. Mikasa’s going with her, but she refused to tell me anything else. She said she wasn’t there to talk about herself. Maybe she felt bad, but I think she only has sympathy for certain individuals._

_Speaking of which, she and Mikasa are on much better terms now. After April 7th, I guess she realized that she was too crazy about Annie to let her go. Eren would always be there with her; it’s her brother, for crying out loud. But Annie might not be, so it’s better to take advantage of it now before she’s gone. I’m glad they were able to talk things out; they both deserve to be happy._

_I didn’t tell her this, because I was happy for her and didn’t want to make it weird, but I wish that you had been able to do the same for me._

_I think I'll become a wine enthusiast. It's fucking delicious._

 

_July 9_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Make a note of this: don’t ever go hang-gliding with Ymir. And if she invites you, please don’t feel bad declining it._

_Let me tell you about this from the beginning, okay? Ymir walks into the house, as she always does: loud, obnoxious, not really caring about anyone else. She stole my pancake, from my mouth—I promise I’m not making this up—and tells me we’re going hang-gliding. I tell her no, it’s my day off and I was going surfing with Sasha and Connie, and she knows that flying in the air at a high height is the last thing I want to do, and she can deal with it if she doesn’t like it. Instead, she picks me up over her shoulder, hauls me outside, and throws me into the passenger seat, from the driver’s seat, of her car before I can do anything about it. While she’s still eating my pancake, by the way._

_I fucking hate heights. I hate flying. I hate the feeling of my feet leaving the ground and giving me nothing to support myself on. But you know what, I was going to try it and I was going to deal with it. If you didn’t think about the flying part, hang-gliding looks cool enough to try out. Plus, as much as I hate to admit it, Ymir is just as hilarious and, dare I say it, fun to be around once you get past the fact that she’s an asshole, so it’s not like I was going to be pissed off for the rest of the time._

_Now apparently, for her eighteenth birthday, her parents let her get her pilot’s license, just because she wanted it, and she had this plan that she was going to fly us, via hang-glide, with me strapped to her chest. With the words “Queen Historia says it’s alright for me to do this, so I’m doing this”. If that was the case, I wouldn’t be writing this, and we would be together again._

_We go through the procedures and the legal shit and for some reason she knows a guy there who was able to get me in without a problem (I don’t ask her anything anymore; I don’t want to trouble her). We get our gear, go up to the runway, I guess you could call it, and we get ready to go. Now, of course, this being Ymir, she doesn’t think to go to the bathroom first, and she doesn’t remind me either (I’m blaming that on her because I’m an adult and I can do what I want, dammit)._

_So here we are, goggles on, I’m beneath her, she’s leaning against my back, and right before we take off, it finally hits me. Now keep in mind, I didn’t have a chance to go before, because she dragged me out of the house against my will. And when I tell her I have to use the bathroom, she just takes off, and we’re in the air, and it's fucking horrible. She'll probably tell you otherwise if you ask her, but I came so close to pissing myself. Let me repeat: I did not piss myself._

_It was surprisingly nice. It felt like I was free from everything that bothered me. Virginia Beach looks really nice from above. At first, it’s a little dizzying, especially when you look directly beneath you and see that you’re nowhere near the ground, and there may have been some freaking out and screaming and overall panic, but after a while, it became relaxing. That’s the best description I can give you, because there’s no one way to describe how it feels. I was free. It was just nice. Even the freckled demon on my back was pleasant. And she’s not a bad pilot either, even if she doesn’t know how to land._

_I thanked her, though. When we were in the hospital, because in the process of “landing” and sending my dick into my stomach, she sprained my left wrist and dislocated my arm. And I may have almost made the nurse fall over because of what I said to her. But I thanked her._

 

_July 12_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I find it funny how often these losers can surprise me. Any of them. This morning, at the crack of dawn, Jaeger woke me up by tearing the blankets off and pulling me out of bed. How loving, right?_

_He said something about us going jogging when I was barely awake, and then he threw a granola bar at me and said "Giddy up"._

_Yes, I got back at him for it by throwing orange juice in his face. I'm not really sorry about it._

_But we had a morning jog before anyone was up, and he just talked about random shit. Whatever came to his mind. It was pretty funny. We had some banter, shoved each other around, actually acted like friends. That was the thing with us. We never admit to liking one another but we actually do. I think he was sent there, though; I've had a private moment with a majority of what used to be Fiji and AOPi. I don't mind it, but it's just something I noticed._

_He and Levi are officially a thing, by the way. Apparently, after the whole EASL thing, Levi quit his job at Stohess and works full-time at the EASL house. And even though it sucks, because he did enjoy his classes underneath all that bitterness, the two of them get to be public about their relationship. I told Eren I was happy for him, and I swear I thought he would cry._

_He said he wished you never had to leave, because you were the first person to teach me how to love someone that wasn't myself._

_After that, we changed and took showers, and then we had breakfast at IHOP. This fucker tried to steal my pancakes too (he didn't). So I tried to steal his eggs (I didn't). After that, we didn't do a whole lot. We played some music together, because we wanted to (he's still better at guitar than I am). Eren didn't really stay for long; he said he had to go help EASL get ready for an upcoming event or something._

_I think that was around the time he said "here" and gave me an envelope filled with cash that I didn't need, or want for that matter, but couldn't do anything about. Inside was a letter from Levi, explaining how the five founders of EASL wanted to thank me for my contribution and that the money was given to me to help me in any way. I called to thank them, after yelling at them for doing something they didn’t have to do, and I got the strangest feeling that it was Eld and Gunther’s idea all along, but when I asked, they were “going through a tunnel”._

_I need to come up with a way to thank them._

 

_August 5_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I don't think they want me to write in here anymore. Sasha and Connie hid it from me and apparently changed its hiding place every week or something. Apparently, I've been doing well, but I still need to write in here. I'm not going to be okay three months after my boyfriend leaves me._

_I love them, but I wish they would ask me before making a decision I'm not ready for._

_Bertolt came over though. A couple days ago. He had texted me a week or so before that, asked about a puzzle or something. And when he came by the other day, he had a giant one with him. 2000 pieces or something insane. We used to do them all the time back in high school._

_Connie and Sasha had taken Rousseur and Cruella out to the beach, so Bert and I set up our station in that little living room/den area. Nice view, nice sounds, nice floor to do puzzles on. At first, we just organized the outside pieces from the inside and chatted nonchalantly about things: the bad weather he hit driving here, my music career making jingles and shit, his offer to intern at the Smithsonian. My relapses._

_I like Bert for the same reasons I like Armin. The only difference is that Bert isn't as proactive as Armin is, and would probably take time to gather support to march with instead of doing it on his own. Neither is good or bad; there are strength in numbers, right? Bertolt doesn't judge either; he told me that the relapses are expected, and how there's nothing wrong with me having them. But my ability to bounce back from my relapses shows that I'm still doing well. It'll just take a little longer._

_I believe him. If anyone else had said it, I would have had a hard time doing that._

 

_August 8_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I saw them trying to hide it again, and I yelled at them both. Not just an angry yell, but an entire rant of how they were being the worst pair of friends I have had, and how I didn’t want them. There was a lot of other shit said, but it’s bad, and I don’t want to remember it. I feel guilty about it; and I have no reason to lie about that. I didn't even apologize to them. I just locked myself away._

_When I went downstairs to get something to eat for dinner, they were gone._

 

_August 9_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Marking this as my third relapse._

 

_August 10_

_How were you able to love a pathetic son of a bitch like me?_

 

_August 11_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I think my dogs can sense the drop in my mood. They don't eat unless I do. When I'm in my room, they stay by my side and don't leave the bed unless I do. I like to think they don't want me to be like this. But there's nothing for me to do._

 

_August 12_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I've resorted to alcohol to solve my problems. Hoping this will help._

 

_Augus 13_

_Almos got fired from my job. Realy lucky I learnd how to li wen I cn barely walk_

 

_August 14_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I keep on writing in here but I really don’t have to. You’re not coming back to me. There’s no way you ever will. If I had the strength, I would go after you. I’d bring you back myself if I knew where you lived. I don't care if I have to fly. I’ll do anything for you. You want the moon? Just say the word, and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down._

_Fuck me._

 

_August 15_

_Dear Marco hello_

_Tried to cook breakfast this morning because I haven’t eaten in days. Burnt my hand instead. Then dropped a pan on my foot. I think the entire city could hear my yelling._

_I give up._

 

_Aug 16_

_My phone finally died after spamming my phone with missed calls and text messages._

 

_[August 17]_

_I have hit rock bottom. Nothing satisfies me anymore. I barely eat. I barely drink. I make sure my dogs get everything they need, because they’re trapped with a shit owner. Maybe I should give them up for adoption._

_Where’s Marco Bodt when you need him?_

 

_August 20_

_Thank God for Mikasa Ackerman._

 

_August 31_

_Dear Marco hello_

_The last time I wrote in this, I was at the lowest point I've been since I came here._

_For the past week and a half, I’ve taken a leave of absence from Virginia Beach and writing in here, packed my things and my dogs, and drove to the Blue Ridge Mountains. I met up with the others and we rented this giant cabin for a week. While I was ignoring everyone and wallowing in my own pity party, they were planning a retreat. Mikasa drove out here, pulled my head out of my ass, and pretty much saved me from doing something drastic. I think it would have happened in due time._

_But we spent a week in the mountains, right before their classes start. We had very little communication with anything outside of the mountains; it was actually nice. The week was just nice. Sasha, Connie and I are alright now; we apologized for what we did and said and made up. We sealed it by making a secret handshake that's probably the dumbest thing they've ever subjected me to. Historia taught us how to do yoga; we cooked these really cool meals that are so simple and so fucking good. We also learned that Jaeger makes some really good brownies. Never tell him I said that. Cruella brought us at least a dozen wild animals that she had somehow hunted on her own. Rousseur just rolled around and played chase by himself until he got too tired to move anymore. Though it didn’t matter, because everyone still loves them. Reiner said they’re like me and Marco, since Cruella’s a diva and Rousseur’s a goof, but I’m not sure how true that actually is._

_When we first got there, though, I wasn't sure what to expect. The first thing we did, after we got settled and chatted for a bit, we went around the room and said what had been bothering us the most lately, and how we wanted to improve. I went first because, according to Armin, we were initially there to help me, and not everyone knew the full story. So I told them what was up—and not some shit story. From my co-dependence on this journal to my weakest points, I told them everything. For the first time since April, I let them back in my life, and I don't regret it. By the end of the week, things were better. We all knew now that I have a long way to go before I'm completely recovered, even if it may not seem that way. It felt like I had opened all of the windows in the house again and let everything free._

_Historia, in all her glory, told me a really cool thing while we were making flower crowns. And yes, we did, don't fucking judge. But she said our lives are like a canvas, and we're the painters, and we make mistakes and masterpieces over and over again, but in the end, it'll still look nice. And it'll still be our creation. Even with me separated from Marco, we still have the time we spent together. No one else can replace that._

_I think I'll start writing in here like I used to: once every ten days. Annie suggested that for me. Maybe it'll help._

 

_September 7_

_Dear Marco hello_

_It's weird not having anyone to talk to regularly anymore. I mean I still talk to and see people around, yeah. I have a few work friends. But it's only me, Rousseur, and Cruella living here now. School started again for the others. Sometimes, I wonder if both Marco and I were there still. I think we could have been able to make magna cum laude or some fancy shit._

_This week wasn't really eventful. I got my shit together; I had to make sure I still had a job and I had to restock my fridge. I bought a shitton of food to make some good meals, maybe try something for the dogs too. Got a new frisbee while I was at it. I might start jogging before work, or whenever I can fit it in._

_I'm going to turn around._

 

_September 15_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I finally contacted my mom to tell her about the whole college situation. After she yelled and freaked about my dropping off the face of the planet without another word, she took the news about college better than I thought she would. But she's still pissed I didn't finish. Better than not going at all, right? Though I think she believes otherwise. She wants to come visit me, but I still don't think I'm ready. I didn't give her an answer because I don't want to fight with her._

_Jaeger and I are talking about making a band. Maybe. It's probably unlikely, but it was worth a shot. I found out I actually don't have as good of a singer voice as he does, and it pisses me off. The fucking asshole is talented as shit._

 

_September 21_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I found the biggest conch shell while taking a walk with Cruella and Rousseur today. I don't know how anything could ever be able to fit in there. Right now, it's sitting on the desk in my room, beside ten origami cranes (made by ten great friends of mine while we vacationed in the Blue Ridge Mountains) and a house Connie built out of Popsicle sticks that he made me last July. It actually isn't that bad._

_And because a certain someone would ask: yes. I could hear the ocean._

 

_October 4_

_Dear Marco hello_

_There wasn't a lot to talk about today, or since I've last wrote in here. I don't need to write anything. I still write “Dear Marco hello” at the beginning of these entries, force of habit I guess, but I don’t write like I’m talking to him anymore. Why should I? I know he’s not here, and the chances of him reading this are low, and that’s okay._

_I think I'm starting to know why I did this._

 

_November 26_

_Dear Marco hello_

_The Third Annual Fiji-AOPi Thanksgiving dinner was a success. I have been labeled as a wine enthusiast and I take full responsibility for that. I can't help that it tastes better than beer, and you can eat it with basically anything you eat. Eren spent half of the time with Levi, and came over before we ate dinner. I think eventually, we'll have it with our kids and other families._

_Another reason why I love these idiots: they had twelve chairs at the table, and kept an empty plate for Marco._

 

_December 24_

_Dear Marco hello_

_I'm spending today with my mom, and then driving back out to Reiner and Bert's apartment for Christmas. And she was surprisingly okay with it. She's always known them as my friends, but I think she's starting to see them as my family as well._

_It was a very relaxed Christmas. I spent some time with my brothers, did some fun stuff. We joked around in the snow, made hot chocolate, played video games. I forgot how enjoyable it was to be with them. Maybe it's because they're the definition of little shits._

_Lucas and his wife had another baby; when I first held her, she didn't want to let go of me. She cried when her parents took her away from me so she could take a nap. Michel asked how babies were born, and we finally told him. Mom locked us outside in the snow._

_There's no reason for me to write in here anymore. I’ve gotten so much better than I was a few months ago. I have a secure job, support from my friends, two pets to keep me company. I’m saving up to move back to Trost soon. I still miss and will always love Marco, and losing him will still affect me, but I can finally say I’m in a better, healthier, happier place now._

 

_April 7_

_Dear Marco hello_

_It's been three months since I last wrote in here; I found it when I was moving my shit into Eren and Armin’s place. I decided that I didn't need to write in here anymore, so I just put it away._

_A year ago today, the one person I truly loved left me in Norfolk International with the thought that I would end up never seeing him again. I dropped out of college and ran away to Virginia Beach because I thought it would help me. Instead, I ended up writing something that he will never read with the thought that I could actually write to him, even if I couldn't see him. The only good that happened to me in Virginia Beach came from the two dogs I adopted off the streets. If I had stayed any longer, without the trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains, I think I might have lost my mind._

_Today, one year later, I can definitely say I'm in a better place than I have ever been in. Eren, Armin and I share an apartment while they finish up college. I got a job at the same radio station I interned at (and may or may not host a show on Fridays). I still jog, but this time with Jaeger, sometimes with Cruella and Rousseur. I finally learned how to make the perfect omelet. That isn’t a joke._

_I had gone out with the nine friends still here for a birthday dinner. Eld and Gunther almost gave me the day off, but I had to do something while the others were in school. As a group, all nine of us, we had gone out for a big lunch and Skyped with Annie and Mikasa, who are still in the Badlands doing sciencey shit that I can't even begin to understand. They come back in June, but I wonder if they'll even want to._

_I may or may not have been forced into a "guys night", with the argument that I need to have a good birthday. I can probably object to that as I am still the biggest asshole in the world, but I went along with it and I honestly had a good time. We had a few beers, shared some cheese fries and buffalo wings. We tried to play a tournament round of pool but it didn’t work out like we had planned (Reiner cheated and everyone got mad at him for it). But we still had fun. We laughed until we couldn’t breathe and our sides split in half because we were focused on having fun. I can’t remember the last time I did that. And the last time I felt free from everything around me and just living was my first (and last) hang-gliding experience._

_Smiling never felt so good. And I hope things are going as well for Marco Bodt as they are for me._


	35. Dining and Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys. The last chapter before the epilogue. Some things go down. I don't know whether to cry over this chapter or the fact that this story is ending soon. It's the first JeanMarco fic I've written and it's so dear to me. 
> 
> But regardless, c'est la vie.
> 
> You are great. You truly are.

It was a surprise how much had changed for Jean Kirschtein in a short amount of time. On his twenty-first birthday, he dropped out of college and ran away from a city and school that held too many memories for him. Two years later, at age twenty-three, he’s a musician who works for the local radio station and creates music for any business that suggests him. He had grown his hair out a little so that it touched his collar, the darker tone underneath almost completely hidden away from prying eyes. His skills and accomplishments have gotten out around the city, and even to surrounding towns, and the jingles and little tunes he makes are heard on TV and the radio.

He shares an apartment in downtown Trost with Eren and Armin, the latter studying for his masters and the other performing just as often as he is. Reiner and Ymir are working on their law degree, with Bertolt doing the same for a masters in education and Historia in veterinary science. Annie and Mikasa had returned home from their archaeological digs in the western part of the United States, spending six months out there and the other half in Virginia, where they process and study their findings. Connie and Sasha, always the dynamic duo, are doing well in the magazine world, with him photographing the topic of her writing. Their work is often seen in local magazines, and, apparently, is some of the best the editor has seen in a long time.

Through a mass group text, they planned a date to meet up once again, as it had been too long since they had had dinner together (and one that wasn’t put in a microwave). There was a new Italian restaurant that had opened up downtown, and it was agreed, on a chilly October morning, a Saturday, that they would meet up for dinner.

x-x-x

"This place is called Lombardi's? Can you get any more Italian?"

Eren, Armin and Jean pulled up to the restaurant that wasn't very far from their apartment. They had arrived early to make sure that it wasn't too packed, but had been beaten by two of their friends already.

"Ymir and Historia said that the wait is about ten minutes for our table," Armin informed them as he checked his phone. "'It's not too packed but the dinner rush hasn't started yet'."

"We'll probably be out by the time they finish it," Eren stated.

"Remember who you're talking about," Jean snorted as he parked the car.

"We're not _that_ bad."

"They kicked us out at Michelangelo's because we stayed there talking for four hours."

"That was one time!"

"Try three, but believe whatever you want—"

"You both need to stop," the blond sighed. "Let's try and not kill each other."

"We're not gonna kill each other."

"Lame. Things were just getting good."

"Shut up, pony boy!"

After Armin separated them and forced them apart, the trio walked into the new restaurant. Almost instantly, Jean was hit with an overwhelming aroma of sauce and cooked delicacies, from meats to seafood to seasonings, all fresh and cooking. He hadn't even looked at a menu and he was already anticipating their meal.

“Smells good,” Eren mused before he was shoved by a taller presence and nearly lost his balance. “Ow, fuck—”

“You think you can just barge in here and not say hi to me after what, ten years of not talking?!” Ymir grinned as she threw her arms over both him and Jean.

“We didn’t see you!”

“Not see Ymir?” The musician snorted as he scooted her arm off of his shoulder. “That’s unheard of.”

“It’s the other way around, smartass,” she corrected. “You not _hearing_ me is unheard of.”

Historia walked out from the pair of doors directly across from them and, upon seeing the new arrivals, dashed over to them and hugged the closest one to her, who happened to be Armin. “You’re here!”

“We’re here!” He caught her and spun her once before Ymir forced him to set her back down.

“Aren’t you guys living with Reiner and Bert now?” Eren asked as they were led to their table.

“And lose my sanity?” The freckled female scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Nah, we’re just neighbors so Rye and I can carpool easily. Tori and I agreed that it’d be better to let them fuck each other’s brains out without having to worry about their roommates.”

“We never agreed on that,” Historia frowned in confusion. “You said you wanted us to be able to have se—”

“Hey, look at that, we’re at our table! I’ll text the other losers and let them know.”

It didn’t take much longer for the other three couples to arrive, separated by only a minute or so. They met with hugs and boisterous greetings, and shock that it had been so long since they had been able to talk in person.

“Look at us, reunited and having dinner together for the first time in forever,” Sasha said once their drinks had come to their table and they put in an order for appetizers. “I’m so proud of us!”

“Should we make a toast, or…?” Reiner suggested, raising his glass in the air.

“To longevity?”

“To alcohol!”

“To happiness!”

“To life!”

“This is gonna turn into ‘Rent’, isn’t it?” Jean sighed. “Eren and Armin as Roger and Mark, Annie and Mikasa as Joanne and Maureen—”

“Minus the relationship drama,” the blonde added with a faint smile.

“Oh yeah. That happened, huh?”

“More or less.”

“That feels like it was forever ago,” Eren mused quietly. “Hell, college feels like it was forever ago.”

“Good for you, Mister Music Theory Major,” Ymir sneered. “What are you gonna do with that?”

“I dunno, whatever the hell I want. I don’t have my shit together like you guys!”

“At least you guys _finished_ college,” Jean pointed out.

“Okay, now, that’s your own fault,” Reiner reminded him.

“Yeah, I know; I’m just saying, be thankful you didn’t let your problems force you to quit.”

“That reminds me,” Connie spoke up, sitting up and getting his friend’s attention. “Sasha and I are going to Seattle soon for a report there—”

“Congrats, you guys!” “That’s awesome.” “How long are you going?”

“Only two weeks,” Sasha replied with a beam. “We’re going next month right before Thanksgiving.”

“We were talking about this the other day,” the photographer continued. “And we were wondering if you knew where Marco lives in San Diego.”

The two-toned-haired male raised an eyebrow at that, taking a sip from his wine before answering. “I don’t know where he lives, but why would that matter?”

Connie frowned, the brunette beside him bowing her head with just as much sadness. “We were going to try and bring him home.”

Jean let the words sink in before he released a small smile, pained yet gentle. “That’s nice of you, but…I don’t know if we’ll be seeing him anytime soon.”

“Have you thought of going out there?” Sasha wondered in a quiet voice.

“Of course; I don’t know if I’d be successful on my first try, though. I don’t have much of a starting point.”

“But you should still have his address, right?” Bertolt spoke up. “I mean, you knew where to send your letters.”

“Yeah, but he moved since we last wrote. I never bothered to ask for it, and he never bothered to tell me. It wasn’t really necessary.”

A heavy silence fell over the eleven as their appetizers were delivered in front of them, and as the conversation resumed, this time on a new subject, Jean checked his phone for the date out of curiosity. October 8th, a Saturday: if his memory served him correctly, two years and two days prior was the day he first met Marco Bodt in public, when he first fell in love with freckled skin and when he first found out that the love of his life had been living three doors down from him for two years straight.

He rejoined the chatting that was taking place, which was mostly teasing at Eren at how head-over-heels he was for their former psychology professor, who was now working full time at the EASL shelter. His ears caught the name “Bodt” a few times, but when he looked over his shoulder to see if he could find the source of the calling, he found no one shouting out to another. Initially, the musician was convinced he was imagining it before one of his friends brought it up as well.

“Sorry to bring everything down again, but I’m either going crazy, or someone keeps on calling out ‘Bodt’,” Ymir spoke up despite the stuffed mushroom she had been eating.

“No, I hear it too,” Jean nodded. “I don’t know where it’s coming from, though.”

“It’s not a common last name, is it?” Historia inquired.

“You don’t hear it every day,” Annie pointed out.

“It’s probably just a kid or something,” Eren shrugged. “It sounds a lot like ‘robot’.”

“No, it can’t be that,” the musician whispered with a shake of his head. “It’s definitely ‘Bodt’.”

“I would like him to be here as much as you, Jean, but…do you really think that Marco would be here and not tell any of us?” Sasha asked him.

“What if he can’t?”

“Not again…” “Jean, please.”

“What? I’m just saying it’s possible!”

“Yeah, but he’s _gone_ , Jean. He’s not here.”

The musician rolled his eyes and gave Eren a fierce look of irritation and anger. “Look. I’m not relapsing, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve learned to live without him; I still love him like crazy, that won’t change. But I’m not imagining anything. If it’s not him, then someone has to share the same name.” The green-eyed male shut up then, head hanging low, as Jean took a long sip of wine and looked at the other members of the table. “I’m sorry for snapping. But I don’t want you to get any ideas. I can miss him and still know that he’s not coming back.”

The dishes that had held their appetizers were taken away, and the group of eleven put in their orders for their entrees. Their prevention on Sasha from ordering everything that made her mouth water, and their success in narrowing her options down to one dish, and even get the waiter to laugh, was enough to return the lighthearted mood.

“I can’t help it if I’m always hungry!” She defended, shoving her cackling boyfriend. “And you’re just as worse as me!”

“You almost ordered everything we had ordered _twice_! You had to be stopped!” Connie laughed.

“What if we let you taste what you wanted to order?” Armin offered.

“That’s a good idea!” Historia grinned. “We can add a little bit onto a salad plate for you to have!”

“There’s no way she’s going near my food,” Ymir stated immediately.

Sasha whined; “But you ordered the chicken parm!”

“You’re already gonna get some of Historia’s eggplant parm! Back off!”

“You can have some of mine,” Jean proposed. “I got the same thing as Ymir.”

“Yeah, do that; eat Kirschtein’s shit.”

“Do you have to say it like that?”

“Ooh, I can do that!”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

Before he could continue with the scolding of the hungry journalist, he was broken from his train of thought by a tap on his shoulder. Armin gestured to Eren, guilty and apologetic with wide teal eyes. Jean recalled that same look years ago, when they were in high school and foolishly having fling after fling, when Eren confessed that he wasn't attracted to him and was afraid that it would end the mutual relationship they had created.

"Jean, about what I said before, about Marco being gone…" He let out a breath, paused, and continued. "I didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh."

Jean shook his head almost instantly; "Don’t worry about it. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"You had a reason to. I can't decide what you can and can't believe."

"True, but I could have worded things differently."

"Yeah, but—"

"Look, Eren, we're gonna be here forever if we don't cut this off somewhere. I'm cool if you're cool."

"Yeah, I'm cool!"

"Then we're good."

"Good." Eren paused, turned back to the table, but then rotated back around. "That was really adult of us to do."

"It was."

"I still think you're a horseface, though."

"I was planning on beating your ass up later anyway, so we're even."

"Fuck off, Kirschtein."

"After you, Jaeger."

A few minutes later, and a few more laughs that echoed around the restroom, their main dishes arrived steaming and aromatic. For a brief moment, there was silence at their table as they ate. Just as they had agreed, there was even a side dish for anyone to give Sasha a small portion of their meal to try. Jean was the first to break the comfortable yet quiet atmosphere.

"Before I forget, if you guys wanna come by and hang out with the puppies, just lemme know and we can figure out a time," he informed the group. A few weeks ago, his Border Collie, Cruella, had given birth to seven pups. They were all divided in appearance: three had their father’s fur but the bone structure of their mother, and another three were reversed, but the last was a strange combination, her coat the usual for a Border Collie but smudges of black spots littered the white patches. From the moment he saw her, Jean knew which one of the seven he was definitely keeping.

"She finally gave birth?" "Do you have pictures?!" "How's Cruella?"

"Why did I say anything—here." He got out his phone and opened up to the pictures he had taken before he handed it off to the trio—Sasha, Connie, and Reiner—that had spoken first.

"Look at them! They're so cute!" The brunette cooed.

"Dude, you have one that's half and half?!" Connie gawked with wide eyes.

"That's Lilly, and she's mine, thank you."

"Cruella looks so proud," Reiner grinned.

"You should have seen her right after she had them," Eren snorted. "She woke us up at like, three in the morning, kept us up for ten hours, and then once they were born, she just sat there like she was the Queen of England or something. Rousseur was practically kissing the floor beneath her feet."

"Yep, that's the princess."

"Do they have names yet?" Sasha wondered.

"Nah, couldn't think of any."

She nodded and pointed to one of the pups. "Nellie."

Jean laughed at that; "Are you claiming them already?"

"Yep!"

"Bert, would Dakota go well with a dog?" Reiner prompted.

"Reiner, we're not getting a dog," the taller sighed.

"But look at these pups! They're really cute, right? They're not cats, but they're still really cool."

"…stop it, they're convincing me."

"See?! I'm a lawyer, they give compelling arguments—we're meant to have one of them!"

"You're not a lawyer yet. Why do you keep on saying that you are?"

"You are so mean! Let me kiss you, c'mere."

Annie looked over from the duo beside her to Jean; "Mikasa and I can come Tuesday if you're not busy."

The two-toned-haired male smiled at that. "Thank you for doing the normal option."

It was at that moment that his ears drowned out the rest of the conversation at the table and picked up joyful, familiar laughter, a sound he had fallen in love with two years ago and was unable to get out of his head. He had believed it would be the last time he would hear it, when he had said his farewell in his own way. He was convinced he wouldn't be hearing it for a long time. Though as he turned, he hoped that this wasn't a dream, this wasn't something that he was imagining to tease his heart.

There he was, for a split second, smiling, a hidden strain behind it but still smiling, a freckled hand returning a dropped toy to a young child. And then, as he turned his back to him once more, as quick as he had been heard, he was gone, out the door, and hailing a cab that came too quickly and took him away.

It was him. After two years of living with a broken heart, he could feel the pieces start to come together, held up by hope and thoughts that had to be too good to be true. There was no way that it was him. It couldn't be possible.

"Earth to Jean!" "Goddammit, Jay, we're talking to you!"

Jean was pulled out of his hypnotic state and returned to reality. Blinking rapidly to clear his head, he took back his phone and gazed at the ten pairs of eyes that were on him. He wasn't sure how much they could read, or how much he was giving away, but he knew he was wasting time sitting there, dozing off. "I need to go."

Grabbing his coat, and ignoring the questioning calls, he marched over to who he assumed was the manager and tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but that employee that just walked out of here—what's his name?"

"My apologies, but we are not allowed to give out personal information on any of our employees," she responded in a tone that made it seem like she had been in this situation before.

Jean's heart sank to the floor as the woman started to walk away from him, but he pursued her despite her answer. "Ma'am, please, I need to know something about him.

"I am not obligated to—"

"Then where's he going? I need to know where he's going, at least. Please." He held onto the counter that separated them; the manager was halfway into the back of the restaurant. "I'm someone very important to him. And I don't think he knows I'm here."

At first, he was sure he wasn't going to find out where his freckled love had gone. He had lost him for a third time, and there was no way to find out if he was going to run into him again. However, the manager must have taken pity on him or believed his story, for she sighed and gestured to the direction he must have taken. "He takes the subway to and from work. There’s an entrance a few blocks away. You should be able to catch him before it leaves."

Jean was out the door with a rushed thank you as soon as she finished, his feet slamming against the pavement. He thought he had heard Sasha or Connie, someone who had tried to hold him back but failed. There was no stopping him now. That voice, that laugh, that smile that was so fake and so painful to see yet so convincing, a great pretender of a gesture that could assure anyone that everything was alright. But he knew better. He had learned numerous things about smiles since he had met the person that has caused them with each kind word and with each "Dear Jean hello". It was a sweet melody that increased his heart rate and churned his stomach full of butterflies.

The drive to the station would have definitely been faster than running, but there was no other choice for him. Taking a cab would take too much time that he needed to find the constellation of freckles among a sea of strangers, to bring him home where he belonged. This was his chance, and time was more valuable than ever at this point. He couldn't risk mistakes.

He pushed past people to get to the landing that overlooked the entrances to the different stations, amber eyes searching the crowd for the only person that mattered to him at that moment, who always had mattered and would always matter. It reminded him of a childhood book he used to read religiously, searching for striped sweaters and hats among similar items. Now Jean was scrambling to pinpoint what little of an image he had: brown coat, hair neatly combed in the same style it had been two years ago, body dotted and perfected with more freckles than he could count.

There. Walking towards one of the exits, and almost there, hand in his pocket, before he stopped. Checking first his jacket's and then his pants' pocket, sighing and frowning and turning back around. Towards the stairs. Towards Jean.

This was it.

He pushed off the railing and down the stairs that would lead him to his destination. His feet burned and he struggled slightly to gain control of his shaky breathing, but he had to catch him before he lost him. He was so close, so close, and Jean was off the last step and at the same level. The crowd around them, thankfully, didn't bustle around them as much, giving them both time to see each other closer than they had been in two years.

At first, he stopped, and Jean did the same, afraid to approach, afraid that the next-worst thing had come true. He didn't want to see the Virginian. This wasn't his love. He had made a mistake. He was unwelcomed. Regardless of the thoughts, he kept his distance in return and stood tall, patient and anxious and excited, heaving with breaths and struggling to stand. He was right in front of him, _right there_ , after too many years for a perfect match to be separated.

He moved first. Jean, when he saw him quickly closing the distance between them, dashed over to meet him halfway, to pull him into his arms and to embrace him, trying to make up for the time spent apart. They were sprinting as they finally sealed their two-year separation and hugged him as tight as he could, pressing him against his hands and body and feeling what he had already mapped out. A bubble of sobs had risen from the taller male's chest, and, even if it was accompanied by tears, he could finally hear his name on full lips, the sounds sweet and warm and full of love and relief.

"J-Jean, Jean, oh _God_ , Jean…!"

Jean breathed out a long sigh and shut his eyes, ignored the stinging of his own tears and simply let himself fall into the smell of vanilla and seasonings from all around the world and the scent that was purely Marco, all Marco, "Marco, my Marco, my sweet, sweet Marco."

"It's me. I-I promise it's me." He pulled away to connect their stares, shining pools of whiskey to amber depths, replaced with the soft, warm touch of lips. Arms pulled him closer together, wrapping around waists and necks and anything accessible to them. Fingers that had been empty and without support tangled together and squeezed, reminding him of what he felt like, of what love felt like, and how much love he held for him.

And when they broke away for air and Jean simply gazed at Marco—his freckled skin and damp cheek and tired eyes, too tired eyes, but his smile so warm and inviting and loving and all for him—it lifted a heavy burden off his shoulders that he was unaware of. Breathing, seeing, feeling was easier for him. His heart was fuller than it had been in two years thanks to Marco, the boy, the man, he had lost twice but the same individual who had kept hold of his heart for years that he could barely keep track of and returned to him despite the odds.

"You're home."


	36. Epilogue: Presents and Eternal Mirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is it. The last chapter. Of this story. I honestly started to cry when I was rereading this. It's my first SNK fic of two of the biggest losers in the SNK franchise, and it's come along so far. I don't even know 
> 
> Oh, and before I forget: A LOVELY READER DREW US SOME LOVELY FANART THAT I HONESTLY CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF AND YOU CAN FIND IT RIGHT HERE FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE.  
> I hope that worked, that's the first time I've added a link hA.
> 
> Okay but seriously. Here we go.
> 
> This is it.

_Seven Years Later_

"Daaaad!"

Mornings like these were always difficult.

"Daddyyyy! Wake up!"

"Daddy, come on, you said you would help us make breakfast!"

Jean opened his eyes to blearily gaze at the two children standing on his bed: Sammie, hands on her hips defiantly, her braided hair falling out in multiple places, and Nicholas, as quiet as ever but accompanied by a small pout on his face. From beside him, on the ground, their dog Lilly, the very same from the litter of the deceased Rousseur and Cruella, licked at his hand. The clock on the bedside table read off the time as seven in the morning, on Friday, April 7th; the kids had a day off for teacher planning. And his husband was still beside him, deep in sleep, one arm thrown over Jean’s waist.

It wasn’t the ideal way to start one’s thirtieth birthday, but for them, it was normal.

"Did you see what time it is?" He mumbled, stretching and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Yes, I did, and Daddy says that he was going to help us make breakfast for you!" Sammie announced.

"And he said we can give you your present when you wake up too," Nicholas added.

Jean let out a soft sigh, let his mind form proper sentences, before he turned over and nudged the freckled mess beside him. "Your children demand you," he said.

Marco shifted, eyes barely opened, and groaned, one arm thrown over his eyes. "They're your children on Fridays."

"It's my birthday. They're not mine until noon."

A single hazelnut eye peeked out at him beneath an arm, followed by a soft scoff. "Rude husband. Now you don't get any birthday kisses."

The two-toned-haired male, sitting up, raised an eyebrow at that before, with a glance at the twins, nodded at his husband. Almost instantly, the five-year-olds pounced on him, determination clear on their faces.

"Up, up, Daddy!" Sammie demanded. "It's time to cook breakfast!"

Marco, the air now kicked out of him, struggled to sit up, tickling the two children as he did. “Alright, I’m up, I’m up!”

“Hurry, before the eggs go cold!”

Sammie and Nicholas dragged their freckled parent out of the room, giving Jean a moment to lean back  against the headboard and giving Lilly a spot on the bed. The musician eyed her, a warning that she would be kicked off once the other three returned, but she put her head in his lap and looked up at him, as if she was begging to stay, and he couldn’t deny her.

So much had happened in a span of seven years, since he had reunited with Marco. It had taken time for both of them to heal—being separated from one another in the first place was enough to warrant tension from Jean’s side. After meeting in the train station, they agreed to take things slow, a night spent simply holding each other truly did them wonders to get started on that road.

He told the Californian about his time in Virginia Beach, introduced him to Rousseur and Cruella (he laughed at the latter and gave a bittersweet smile at the former). And he gave the chef the journal he had written in. With reluctance and shame, he revealed how he had relapsed and nearly led himself to death, and gave credit to the ten individuals that had been there for him, even when he pushed them away. And when Marco finished reading it, he let Jean know how proud he was to hear how he had managed to smile and laugh again thanks to those ten, and how he had gotten his life situated just a little bit better.

And in return, he told the Virginian his story, how his mother had lied to him about his already deceased grandmother’s death, how he left San Diego for Phoenix, Arizona, with nothing but the box of Jean’s letters, the red dragon, and a few pairs of clothes. He started a two-year journey and traveled from town to town, working at a job that could give him enough money for a place to stay and eventually move on. He had suffered through monsoons and desert storms and tornadoes that had him begging for home, his real home, until he reached Trost and had only been staying there for a month. He told him about his decision to take buses between locations instead of flying, because buses were cheaper and because just looking at a plane reminded him of the fear his then ex-boyfriend felt for them. Marco, too, had suffered emotionally from their separation and the decision he had made (“I took myself away from happiness, and I regretted it every day.”), how he knew he didn't stand up when he should have, but he kept moving all the same. He had traveled across the country to reach him, even if he had had no idea how he would pinpoint him.

And, for what seemed like too long, he finally released his anguish and relief, they both did, with sobs that wracked through him and shook him down to his core. Once it was let out, eyes and cheeks clear of water, they stayed the night in each other’s embrace, reassuring one another that they were not dreaming and that they were going to get better.

Three months after their reunion, when they agreed that their relationship had improved, Jean and Marco moved in together, in the next apartment over from his former roommates. Within a year, they were married, on the beach, as the sun set behind them and announced the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. Just as it had been promised years before, they traveled to Canada, specifically Niagara Falls, and started their honeymoon from there, backpacking across the country. They bought a house in the suburbs right outside of Trost and an old drugstore downtown that was now unused but was transforming into Marco’s dream restaurant, with an estimate of two more years before it could open. A year after they married, they adopted Samantha and Nicholas, twins who gave them even more happiness than they could have ever hoped for, she sassy and witty, he kind and quiet. Their lives might not always be free of stress, but it was full of a happiness that they could finally call their own.

Nicholas appeared first, holding a tray laden with two flowers, a red chrysanthemum and a blue lotus, and his birthday breakfast, containing nothing but an omelet, a tradition he refused to break. “I brought you your food, Daddy,” he announced quietly, and placed his gift down on the bed before he climbed up.

“Thanks, Nickie,” he smiled, situating the tray on his lap. He pulled the flowers out of their vases and put one behind each ear. They were the same flowers, though fake at the time, he had used to make a crown during a retreat, the blue representing rebirth and the red, love. His son giggled at the sight as he plopped down beside him.

“You look silly!”

“Do I?” Jean stuck his tongue out and made a face, causing more laughter from the boy.

“Don’t have fun without me!” Sammie called out as she dashed into the room. She leapt onto the bed, scaring Lilly from her spot, before she held out the wrapped box. “Here!”

The father took the present from her hands and gently shook it. “Can I open it now, or do I have to wait?”

“Now, now! Do it now!” The two children giggled, perched on their toes and bouncing with energy.

Jean stole a glance at Marco, who was watching the scene from the doorway, a content smile on his face. His eyes locked with the musician’s, and his grin widened; even with the years they had spent together, in their own home and their own bed and their joined lives, he never got tired of seeing his husband smile.

The wrapping paper, a mixture of red and blue, was ripped off and revealed a plain, white box. A logo that he didn’t recognize was emblazoned on the front, and it gave no clue to what was inside. Stealing one last glimpse at his husband for some sort of hint, he removed the lid of the box and stopped. His heart leaped into his throat, and his hands froze on either side of the container. His amber gaze ran over it again and again, unable to comprehend the reality of the situation. Sammie and Nicholas might not understand the meaning of it until they were older, but Jean knew instantly what it was.

“You can take it out,” Marco whispered, now beside him, his eyes wide and gentle and keeping back the excitement he held within.

“I’m afraid to,” Jean answered back at the same volume before he grabbed the middle, long piano hands grasping it tautly, and raised it out of the case. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“Put it on the mantle!” Sammie suggested, and was already off of the bed. Nicholas started to follow her, but looked between his parents and his twin, as if to wait for them. “Hurry, hurry!”

Putting the breakfast aside, and checking for Lilly to make sure she didn’t eat it, the parents followed the second half of their family into the living room. Although they couldn’t reach it, the twins hopped up and down in front of the fireplace.

“Come _on_ , Dads!”

“Alright, alright, calm down, little bean,” Jean chided softly, lifting Nicholas up as Marco did the same for her. “Are you ready?” The duo nodded, and the red Chinese dragon was placed beside its replica, a mirror image of the strength they had gained, how they faced such hard times but were still able to maintain their benevolence and peace. It served as a reminder that their relationship was strong and would always survive against the greater odds, even if the outcomes were low.

"It looks very nice," the chef commented. "Did you know that these type of dragons are a symbol of strength and good luck?"

“No way,” Nicholas whispered.

"Are they good guys?" Sammie asked.

"Very good!" Marco grinned.

"I think they're pretty."

He chuckled and set her down. "Yes, they do look very nice."

Jean did the same for Nicholas before he pulled his husband by the waist and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the present," he smiled.

"Sorry I took so long to get it," he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t even tell you how hard it was to find it.”

With a hum, the musician nuzzled his cheek. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

The taller male sighed, resting his forehead against Jean's. "Yeah, but it’s special. It means something for us."

Jean snorted. "Remember when we fought over yours?"

"When we were loser college kids who didn't know anything better than ramen and free t-shirts?"

"More or less."

Marco hummed and grinned. "You got ridiculously drunk on the beach."

“It wasn’t that bad; I sobered up by the time I got home. Besides, you made a pillow fort with Ymir and watched 'The Office'."

"I made popcorn; Silly husband. Ymir made us the pillow fort."

"Eh, close enough."

Another chuckle, followed by a soft peck on the head. "I love you."

"I love you more."

“Don’t start. You’re going to lose that game.”

"Hey Daddy, what are these?" Nicholas wondered, tapping on the two tin boxes that were on the coffee table. Sammie had been taking her hair out of its braids, releasing the brown locks, but once she saw it, her attention was derailed to the boxes immediately. She opened up the closest one and retrieved the first paper she saw, unfolding it and sounding out the first three words.

"Duh-ear, dear? Juh-een, huh-ell-lo," she attempted to pronounce it correctly. "Dear Jeen hello."

"It's 'Jean', Sammie, but you were close," the musician chuckled, and he sat beside her. "You know, when Daddy and I were kids, we wrote letters to one another."

"Mhm, and we didn't meet until we were older," Marco added, and eyed the letter in his daughter's hands with a smile. "We wrote each other for a really long time, though."

"But if you did that, then how did you and Daddy meet then?" Nicholas wondered, clutching the unopened box in his hands, as if it was his lifeline.

"That's a really long story, Nickie," Jean laughed. "And it'll make sense to you when you're older."

"Awww but Daddy!" "Can't you tell us something?!"

The musician patted the twins on the head, and then stood up; "I think I'll go get my breakfast before it gets cold."

"But Daaaaad!"

"What should we watch first?" Marco asked as he started to set up their movie marathon. "'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles', or 'Ghostbusters'?"

Jean walked down the hall to the bedroom and remembered a conversation he and Marco had had while they were in a photoshoot for a now international non-profit organization when it was nothing but an idea. They promised each other a life that was full of mirth and joy: two kids, a dog, a house. And they had accomplished all of that, even when the twins were rowdy, even when Lilly ate their food, as she had done at that very moment. But it was worth it to see a freckled smile and a laugh that bleeded with a happiness to live.

Long ago, there was a boy in Virginia who fell in love with a boy in California. At first, he denied it in fear of losing who he was and the best friend whom he had grown to adore. But that same boy in California taught him that love, in all sorts of forms, has no boundaries, and it wasn’t a crime to love someone, no matter if they were extremely opposite or exactly the same. It inspired him no matter where he had gone, even if they were miles apart, so much so that whether he's thirty or eighty, Jean Kirschtein will forever be grateful that he read "Dear Jean hello", and that Marco Bodt taught him you don't have to be perfect to be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers hello,
> 
> You have reached the end of "Dear Jean Hello", and the end of the JeanMarco arc of the Fiji-AOPi series. I cannot put into words how much I have enjoyed posting for you, whether you've commented or left a kudos, whether you've been here since the beginning or if you're binge-reading it all in one sitting (36 chapters in one go? I tip my hat off to you). Regardless, I want to thank you for reading and keeping up with the Kirschtein-Bodts. It means a lot to me that you read this little thing. It truly does.
> 
> If you want to keep up with my wacky SNK mannerisms, you can see me on [Tumblr](%E2%80%9Cfreckledskittlesallovertheplace.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) and on Twitter on the links that hopefully work. And if they don't, well, I'm still trying. But you can also watch me here for updates, because I'm not going anywhere.
> 
> To the four betas who read this when it was in its first drafts: thank you for dealing with my shit and helping me tweak the story to its final product. And to the beautiful blackamaryllis: thank you for handling my shenanigans. <3
> 
> I hope you always know that you don't need to be perfect to be loved. And I hope you know how amazing you are.
> 
> Thank you.


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